


magic madness heaven sin

by Chierei



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Oswald Cobblepot, But mostly porn, Dirty Talk, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Oral Sex, Porn With Plot, Pre-Canon, Pretty Woman AU but not really, Romance, smutty smut smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-05
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-01-23 09:30:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 28,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21317947
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: “You are,” Ed started to say, his mind still trying to catch up to the implication. “You’re a prostitute?”He cringed at the phrasing and immediately backtracked, flapping his arms as he tried to explain. “Not that there's anything wrong with that! I was just surprised! Did you know that the earliest recorded notion of prostitution dates back to 2400 BC when religious Sumerian shrines were common locations for prostitution, which was considered a sacred ritual? During the same time in Canaan—”“Wow, you are really bad at this,” Ozzy said.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma
Comments: 137
Kudos: 206





	1. Chapter 1

This was a mistake.

He didn’t know why he thought this would be a good idea. At the time, being in a new city, he had thought it was a chance to reinvent himself—toss away the nervous, awkward Ed and be the stronger, more confident man that he felt he could be.

But now that he was here in the club, trapped between pulsing music and jostling crowds, he wished he had stayed in his hotel room to play video games. It was all too much—beautiful people talking to other beautiful people over overpriced cocktails. Ed felt like an ugly strain of _amaranthus albus_ among a garden of roses.

“You’re looking a little lost, sweetie,” a voice cut in, jarring Ed out of his mental retreat. He jumped, not expecting the touch to his arm or the voice that was much too close to his ear. He heard a laugh, and it was missing the mocking undertone he was used to.

Ed turned to get a better look at the stranger. He was a head shorter than Ed, dressed in a skin-tight purple top that left his midriff bare. He had dark, artfully tousled hair with long bangs that only accentuated his stunning blue eyes.

“Um,” Ed said, caught off guard and unsure what the social protocol was. “This isn’t my usual crowd?” he said, wincing when it came out as a question.

The man chuckled, and Ed’s attention was caught by how the act made his entire face light up. “Call me Ozzy,” he said, sidling closer to speak into Ed’s ear.

“I’m Edward,” he said. “I mean, Ed,” he amended, copying the action to press his mouth near Ozzy’s ear to be heard over the music.

“So, Ed,” Ozzy said, still almost pressed up against Ed’s side, which, while practical given the volume, was a little uncomfortable. “If this isn’t your normal scene, what are you doing here?” His smile was friendly, and the tone was lightly teasing.

“Um,” Ed said, losing focus. Ozzy had yet to remove his hand from where it was laid on Ed’s arm. No one had touched him like this in a long time, perhaps since his mother died. “I just moved here, and so I thought I’d, uh,” Ed stuttered—the man’s touching was becoming distracting. He tried to shuffle back, trying to make space, but Ozzy kept himself pressed against Ed. The crowd was still stumbling around them, careless elbows and shoulders presumably pushing Ozzy into him because he kept getting closer and closer, no matter how many steps back Ed tried to make to give him space.

“So, you were looking for some company for the night?” Ozzy finished, eyes sparkling.

“Yes!” Ed said, glad that someone understood.

“How about we get out of here then?” Ozzy said, and Ed thought his heart would burst from excitement.

Did he just make a friend?

* * *

The walk to Ed’s hotel was short, but the late fall air was more winter than fall. Ed offered Ozzy his jacket, concerned about his lack of a coat and general sparsity of clothing.

Ozzy giggled in response but refused, instead grabbing Ed so they were walking arm and arm. “How about you just keep me warm?” he said with a smile.

Ed smiled in return, hiding his confusion. Wasn’t that what he had been trying to do?

Ed couldn’t help but notice that Ozzy was more attractive in the light. He was slim with a graceful stride despite the height of his heeled boots. Up close and away from the strobing lights, Ed could see the dusting of freckles across his nose and the streak of bright purple shot through his bangs.

Ed would have preferred talking at a diner over coffee, but Ozzy asked to go to his hotel. Maybe there wasn’t a cafe open nearby? It was getting late, and he didn’t know the area very well yet. Ed didn’t want to ask—he didn’t know how meeting new friends worked and didn’t want to appear odd. Most of all, he didn’t want to be weird, Edward Nygma anymore.

Ed unlocked the door to his hotel room, passing the cheap plastic card over the sensor. He chose this hotel because of its convenient location; it was the closest to the GCPD even though he would have preferred someplace with more character. This hotel was renovated in blacks and whites, with bright streaks of color that Ed assumed was meant to be “hip.” It was all sharp, clean lines and no personality.

Still, Ozzy gave an impressed whistle as he walked in, so Ed presumed it at least suited someone’s taste. “Nice digs,” Ozzy said, taking a look around.

Ed hung his jacket up in the closet, unsure what to do next. He had never made a friend before, let alone had a friend over. This wasn’t his home, but he assumed the same courtesies applied. “Did you want something to drink?” he offered, sure that he could find something suitable in the minibar.

Ozzy shook his head but smiled, shuffling closer to invade Ed’s personal space again. “Let’s get the boring stuff out of the way first, baby. My rates are two hundred an hour, six hundred for the night, and double if you want bareback.”

Ed’s mind blanked. “What?” he said, uncomprehending.

Ozzy cocked a hip, and Ed was suddenly very aware of how low his jeans were and the sharp jut of his hip bone. “Anything other than the standard anal and oral will cost extra, but I’m open to almost anything you want.” Ozzy winked at him as his tone dropped down to something more of a purr.

“You are,” Ed started to say, his mind still trying to catch up to the implication. “You’re a prostitute?”

He cringed at the phrasing and immediately backtracked, flapping his arms as he tried to explain. “Not that there's anything wrong with that! I was just surprised! Did you know that the earliest recorded notion of prostitution dates back to 2400 BC when religious Sumerian shrines were common locations for prostitution, which was considered a sacred ritual? During the same time in Canaan—"

“Wow, you are really bad at this,” Ozzy interrupted, one eyebrow raised and hand on his hip.

Ed shut his mouth with an audible clank of his teeth, trying to suppress the burn of shame that was starting to churn in his stomach. He ducked his head, not wanting to look at the other man. He had misread the entire situation, and the embarrassment was almost overwhelming.

Ozzy, perhaps picking up on some of it, gave him a strained smile. “It’s fine,” he said, taking a seat on the edge of the bed, patting the spot next to him until Ed joined him. “I should’ve been more clear since you are new to town, but _Avenue_ is a known pick up bar.”

Ed nodded, not looking up from the floor that he was hoping would open up and swallow him. How could he have been so stupid? Of course, no one would be interested in his company unless they thought they were being paid.

“I do need to go, though. If you aren’t a customer, I need to head back to the club,” Ozzy said, and his voice was kind, almost sympathetic, as he moved to stand.

Ed’s hand shot out to stop him, wrapping his long fingers around Ozzy’s wrist. “No, wait,” he said, making a decision, “stay, please. I’ll pay.”

Ed hurried to take out his wallet, glad that he had gone to the bank recently. His preparedness for always having cash on hand was serving a different purpose than usual. He quickly counted out six hundred dollars in a mix of crisp twenties and fifties. “That should be enough for the night,” he said, as he held out the stack of bills for Ozzy, as though the man would leave if Ed couldn’t pay him fast enough.

Ozzy paused but recovered quickly. He took the stack of bills with a light touch, folding them in half and slipping them in his back pocket without counting. His smile was back, and Ozzy swung a leg over Ed’s lap to straddle him.

Ed’s hands went automatically to his waist to steady him, unsure of whether or not it was appropriate to touch the exposed swath of skin that his top didn’t cover. He didn’t know what he was doing, knew it was probably a bad idea, but he didn’t want to be alone anymore. Even if it was for one night, he wanted to feel normal.

“Well,” Ozzy said, bringing his face closer to Ed’s, draping his arms over his shoulders. “I’m yours for the night. What do you want to do?”

Ed’s brain scrambled for an answer. He never had anyone so close, and in a fit of panic, he threw Ozzy off his lap and onto the bed, standing to give himself a few feet of distance. He tried to calm his rapidly beating heart, pressing his palms against his eyes. He paced back and forth, trying to gather his thoughts. What was he doing? Was he really going to pay a prostitute to keep him company? Was he really that pathetic?

_Yes._

Ed squeezed his eyes closed, trying to ignore the voice.

_Come on, Eddie. You’ve already paid the man, might as well get your money’s worth._

No, he just wanted to talk, just wanted some company.

_Come now, do you really believe that? Are you saying you don’t think Ozzy would look so good on his knees? Maybe you can finally get some ass because it’s not like you’ve had other options._

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Ed,” someone said, and Ed’s head shot up, stopping mid-pace. He had forgotten that wasn’t alone, and the look Ozzy was giving him was full of concern, but Ed could see the fear and impatience that the other man couldn’t entirely hide.

“I cannot be touched, but I can be held. You can carry me, yet rarely am I lifted. Made from many; though alone, I die. What am I?” Ed said, the riddle out of his mouth out of instinct.

“Is...that a riddle?” Ozzy said, his face scrunched in skepticism.

“A conversation!” Ed answered, a little frantic. “I mean, could we just talk? For now,” Ed amended, nervous.

Ozzy gave a smile. “Of course. We don’t need to do anything you don’t want to do.” Ozzy slipped off his boots before scooting further onto the bed so he could lean against the headboard, legs curled up under him. “Come on,” he said, patting the space beside him. “We can’t talk without getting comfortable.”

Ed breathed a sigh of relief. He took off his shoes and tie before taking a seat next to Ozzy, mirroring his position. It was odd, being in such a clearly intimate position with a stranger. They weren’t even touching, though Ozzy’s knee would brush his anytime one of them shifted. Ed cleared his throat, not sure where to go from here.

Ozzy took the cue. “So, Ed, tell me about your day? What has brought you to the illustrious Gotham City?”

Once Ed started talking, it was easy for the words to flow out. Ozzy was a captive audience, nodding along and laughing at the right moments. Part of Ed knew it was all part of the act, that it was what he had bought and paid for, but it was such a novel experience that Ed pushed the thought out of his mind.

Somehow, they moved from his new job—GCPD’s newest forensic pathologist—to his hobbies—puzzles—without stopping. Eventually, the conversation took a turn to Ed’s love life or lack thereof.

“So, you’ve never been kissed?” Ozzy said, a look of genuine surprise on his face. “I can’t believe a handsome fellow like you didn’t have all the boys and girls clamoring.”

Ed blushed. Something in his chest swelled at being called handsome. “I’m not good with...people. It’s not so much about the physical attraction as it is about that I’m...different. And people don’t like different.” He tried not to sound bitter.

“Well, I like you,” Ozzy said.

“You have to say that,” Ed said, and the bitterness wasn’t hidden this time. “I’m paying you.”

“Hey,” Ozzy said, reaching out to take Ed’s hand. “Just because you are paying me doesn’t mean I don’t like you. You are a far better client than most.”

“Oh?” Ed said, trying not to sound too interested. “How so? Or is that impolite to ask?”

Ozzy laughed and shook his head. “It’s fine. Well, first off, you are substantially more attractive than my normal clientele. And you haven’t tried to stab me yet, so there is another point for you,” he said with a chuckle.

“Stab you?” Ed repeated, alarmed.

Ozzy shrugged but lifted his top a little to show Ed a ragged white scar that was about the length of a credit card. “Occupational hazard,” he said, unconcerned.

Ed automatically reached out to touch the scar but hesitated, his fingers hovering an inch away. He glanced up at Ozzy, silently asking for permission before he brushed his fingertips against the scar.

“It was a serrated knife, wasn’t it?” Ed said, examining the healed edges.

Ozzy gave him a startled look. “You can tell by just looking at it?”

Ed nodded. “Wounds are just another puzzle. Even healed, I can see where the knife shredded the top layer of tissue. A plain edged knife would have had a left a smoother cut. If I were to guess, I’d say the attacker was right-handed, and you were,” Ed stopped to think, tilting his head to get a better look as he felt around the scar tissue, “on your back. Fascinating.”

Ed was brought out of his thoughts with a laugh, and he pulled away, embarrassed by his inspection. Years have taught him that interest in injuries and bodies was not generally a socially acceptable interest to discuss. “Sorry,” he mumbled self-deprecating, “forensic pathologist.”

“You are something else, Edward,” Ozzy said, and there was no mockery or fear in the tone, just interest and curiosity. “And you are right, by the way. It was some shitty tourist I picked up that I didn’t realize was high as a kite until he tried to stab me while he was already _stabbing_ me.” Ozzy winked again, and Ed blushed bright red at the innuendo. “Luckily, he was shitty with a knife, so I kicked his ass and left him bleeding in the hotel room. After I took his wallet for my troubles, of course.”

Ed laughed. He could picture it already: Ozzy in a righteous fury, face splattered in blood. Ed would bet that Ozzy had looked beautiful. It was only with that thought he Ed noticed the position they were in. Somewhere during their conversation, they had shuffled closer to each other. Ed had an arm wrapped around Ozzy’s waist while the other man was gently dragging his fingers up and down Ed’s thigh.

Ed swallowed, and suddenly the silence between them felt charged. Had Ozzy always been that close?

“Can I kiss you?” Ed finally asked, soft and shy all of a sudden. Ozzy’s mouth—so close and just a little chapped but Ed could see a flash of his tongue behind the slightly parted lips.

Ozzy pressed his lips to Ed in answer. It was chaste, just the press of their closed lips, but as far as first kisses went, Ed wasn’t complaining. Ed pulled away first, opening his eyes that he hadn’t realized he had closed. Ozzy's eyes were more captivating up close—if Ed were one for poetry, he would have compared them to a storm at sea, swirling grays and blues and threatening to pull him under.

Ed slid his eyes shut as he went back for a second kiss, just as gentle. He jolted in surprise at the feeling of Ozzy’s tongue darting out to press against the seam of Ed’s lips but didn’t break the kiss. Ed parted his mouth in response, tentatively pressing his tongue back.

The feeling of having someone else’s tongue in his mouth and vice-versa was unlike any feeling that Ed would have been able to compare it to. It was like static electricity, each brush of his tongue against Ozzy’s sending sparks down his spine, and it made him ache for more.

They kissed for what seemed like hours, parting only to take small breaths of air before diving back in to resume the activity. It was hard to focus on any other sensations except for tongue and lips or the burning press of hands to skin.

When they parted next, Ed knew he was showing all the usual sounds of arousal—dilated pupils and elevated heart rate. He pressed his forehead against Ozzy’s, giving him a moment to rest and try to ignore the painfully hard press of his cock against his zipper.

Ozzy chuckled, notably out of breath. “Well, for a first-timer, you are an excellent kisser.”

Ed gave a chuckle in return. “Well, I am a genius.”

“Are you now?” Ozzy’s eyes darkened, as though a switch had been flipped. “Well, genius, how about we move on to lesson number two?” he said as he boldly ran his hand up Ed’s thigh, where it had been resting the entire makeout session, to palm Ed through his slacks.

Ed thought his brain might have short-circuited. He had underestimated how stimulating sexual activities could be. “I’ve never—” he tried to stutter out.

Ozzy pressed a finger to Ed’s lips to stop him. “I figured if you’ve never been kissed, you’ve also never fucked someone. But I’ll take care of you. Just tell me if you don’t like anything.”

Ed nodded, hesitant but feeling as though he could trust the other man.

Ozzy crawled into his lap, pressing their groins together to make them both moan. Ed was gratified to know that the other man was just as aroused as he was. Ozzy took the opportunity to strip his top off, pulling it over his head in one swift movement to toss it aside, before he leaned in to kiss Ed again. He undid each button of Ed’s shirt at an excruciatingly slow pace, before running his hands down Ed’s chest, lightly scratching at the soft flesh of his stomach. He worked the fabric off Ed’s shoulder, his lips an insistent distraction despite all the movement, and tossed it to the ground.

Ed pulled his mouth away. He wanted to see. “Can I?” he asked, hands hovering over Ozzy’s chest.

Ozzy smiled. “Don’t be shy,” he said, taking Ed’s hand in his own to bring it to grope at his chest. Ed thumbed at his nipples, and Ozzy gave a little shudder of pleasure. Feeling encouraged, Ed brought his mouth to his chest. He gave it a gentle kiss before lathing his tongue around the nub, tasting salt and skin before giving it an experimental nip.

Ozzy winced, and Ed backed off, embarrassed.

“No, it’s fine,” Ozzy said, caressing Ed’s hair in reassurance. “They are just a little sensitive, so be gentle.”

Ed nodded, returning back to his inventory of the body laid before him. This wasn’t that dissimilar to a body at the morgue—just another puzzle, and he felt the urge—the _need_—catalog everything so he could solve it. He used his tongue and his hands, trying out different things in different combinations until he found the optimal one, the one that made Ozzy moan a decibel louder and his cock twitch with interest.

“Fuck,” Ozzy said, breathless. His pupils were blown wide, and Ed felt pride that even if he was paying the other man, he was making it enjoyable.

Ozzy shifted off Ed’s lap, and Ed felt a moment of confusion before he realized what he was doing. The smaller man shimmied out of his pants, making it apparent that he wasn’t wearing any underwear. Ed watched as he slipped his hand into his back pocket and tried not to blush at the condoms and packet of lube that Ozzy tossed on the bed.

Ed busied himself with undoing his own belt and pants, hands shaking even as he pulled them down in one movement with his briefs.

They resumed their previous position, and the friction of their naked cocks against each other almost made Ed come. Ed took a few deep breaths, trying to think of anything to keep down his arousal.

“It's okay,” Ozzy whispered into his ear, husky. “You can touch me.”

And Ed did. He ran his hands all over the newly exposed skin, examining each body part with the careful touch of a scientist. He ran his hands over his backside, grabbing a plush mound in each hand and squeezing, first lightly and then harder. He trailed one hand down his crack, only barely brushing his entrance in a way that made Ozzy gasp.

Ozzy had an attractive cock, lean and of average length and a slight tilt to his right. Ed palmed it experimentally, and Ozzy moaned loudly this time, bucking his hips so his balls bumped against Ed’s aching member.

Ed bit his lip, stifling his own sound of pleasure. He retaliated by wrapping his fingers around Ozzy, marveling at the smooth texture. He gave it an experimental pump, letting his fingers feel along the grooves and veins, raking his nails lightly to feel the resistance the flesh gave. It was so similar and, at the same time, nothing like his own, foreign weight in his hand.

Ozzy crushed their lips together, one hand grabbing Ed by the back of the neck while the other worked to messily align themselves, the dry friction as he rolled his hips against each other sending tingles of pleasure that was swallowed by their lips. Ed sucked on Ozzy’s tongue, taking the moment to scrape his teeth against the rough texture.

He hadn’t noticed Ozzy open the pack of lube but drew away when he felt the shift of his weight. He looked up just in time to see Ozzy reach behind him, and Ed blushed at the implications.

“Can I…?” he started but trailed off.

Ozzy cocked his head, trying to decipher what he was asking.

Ed pushed through his embarrassment. “Can I try, I mean, can you tell me how to…” he made a vague gesture that he hoped the other man could understand.

Ozzy gave him a blank look before a look of dawning comprehension crossed his face, and he gave a smile. “Of course, babe,” he said, reassuring him with a kiss.

Ozzy rolled off Ed’s lap, handing Ed the opened little single-use pack of lube. “I assume you know the general idea?” he asked as he shifted onto his hands and knees. He grabbed one of the hotel pillows to tuck under his chest, a natural and practiced move as he pressed his chest down on the bed.

Ed felt his mouth go dry at the sight. There was a plainly erotic nature of the entire position, of the arch of his back and the curve of his cock. He couldn’t help but let his eyes go down to the small crinkle nestled between his cheek. It flexed when Ozzy shifted, and Ed experimentally pressed his thumb against it, just the smallest amount of pressure.

“It’s okay,” Ozzy said, turning his head to be able to look at Ed. “Just start with one finger.”

Ed fumbled with the lube, spilling more of it in his nervousness but managing to coat the fingers of his right hand liberally. He grabbed Ozzy’s cheek with his left hand, spreading him open to give him a better view before tentatively pressing his pointer finger against his entrance. It sunk in down to the first joint with little resistance, and Ed marveled at the heat Ozzy’s body gave off. Feeling emboldened, he pressed in further until he was two knuckles deep before slowly pulling it out, thrusting it in long strokes.

“Good, now add another finger,” Ozzy said, the sound muffled by the pillow.

Ed nodded again even though he knew Ozzy couldn’t see. The second finger had a little more resistance, but Ozzy parted for him easily. He repeated the motion, fingering the other man open for a few seconds before he decided to try something he had been curious about. He crooked his finger gently downward, and Ozzy gasped, bucking.

“Fuck,” Ozzy said, turning to look at Ed, who had hastily withdrawn his fingers, afraid he had hurt the other man. “No, no, it was good, just didn’t expect it. For a virgin, you know more about this than I would have expected.”

Ed cleared his throat. “Anatomy and physiology were vital parts of my academic study, and I had heard that prostate stimulation was a common form of pleasure. I had only thought that this was an opportunity to gain additional knowledge first hand.”

“You could have just said that you wanted to try it out, you know,” Ozzy said dryly.

Ed deflated.

“I’m just teasing you, Ed,” Ozzy said, giving him a smile. “It was good, do it again, but gently.”

Ed slipped two fingers back in him, careful this time when he gently pressed his fingers down. Ozzy’s reaction was milder this time, but Ed could feel the way he tensed around him or whimperer with small sounds of enjoyment.

He didn’t need to be instructed to add a third, and the stretch around his fingers, the thought of the tight heat around him, made his cock throb. He wanted to ask, the scientist in him wanted to know, but he knew it wasn’t something that was...acceptable to discuss.

_Because bringing a whore back to your hotel room is?_

“Have you ever,” Ed said, hesitating for a moment before forging on. “I mean, what’s the—um,” shit, he couldn’t say it, he felt like he was about to burst into flames with how hot his face felt.

“I’m a hooker, darling,” Ozzy said, pressing himself back into Ed’s fingers. “I can’t judge you for anything you ask me.”

“Have you ever been fisted?” Ed blurted out, the words coming out in a hurried rush that he wasn’t sure Ozzy would be able to understand.

But he did. “Yes,” Ozzy said, nonchalant as though it was an everyday topic, which it might actually be. “I had a client who liked it. It can be enjoyable if you go slow. I’d offer it for you, but I think that might be a little advanced right now.”

“No, no, it’s fine,” Ed said, shaking his head. “I was just curious.”

Ozzy must have heard something in his voice, because he smirked, looking as cocky and confident as a man on his hands and knees with three fingers up his ass could. “But you like the thought, don’t you? Like the idea of stuffing your entire hand up my ass, stretching me open?”

Ed groaned at the image of Ozzy on his knees just like he was now, spread open obscenely.

“Maybe next time,” Ozzy teased. “But how about you fuck me with that nice big dick of your first?”

Ed hurriedly nodded, pulling out his fingers to fumble with the condom. He was relieved that he had experimented with a box of them in his own time, so rolling the pre-lubricated condom down himself wasn’t a complete embarrassment. He spread Ozzy’s apart with both hands and pressed the tip of his cock against his entrance.

He opened his mouth to ask if Ozzy was ready, but choked on the words when the other man pushed himself back, his ass swallowing Ed eagerly.

“Ahh,” Ozzy moaned, shooting Ed a saucy look over his shoulder. “That’s better. Come on, Ed, fuck me.”

Ed moaned, but obeyed, pushing himself in slowly. He had to pause when his pelvis hit Ozzy’s backside, breathing slowly to keep himself from coming. He withdrew, slow, until only the tip was inside, watching the slow, obscene slide of his cock slipping out of the other man. It made him feel good, made him feel desired and powerful, and he pushed back in, harder, and Ozzy let out a gasp in surprise.

Ed’s eyes darkened, and he started a punishing pace, hips pounding into the smaller man who met each thrust with his own. His leg and ab muscles ached, but Ed didn’t care. He wanted—

He wanted to see Ozzy’s face.

He pulled out, ignoring the whine of confusion from his partner as he manhandled him onto his back. Ed wasn’t a particularly strong individual—lanky had always been a common word to describe him—but Ozzy was short and equally lean, which made him easy to physically manipulate.

Especially once he realized what Ed wanted. Ozzy leaned back and spread his legs eagerly so Ed could crawl between them. Ed slid back inside the other man, enjoying seeing the way Ozzy threw his head back, and his lips parted in pleasure. He felt Ozzy wrap his legs around his waist, and Ed leaned down to steal a kiss as he rocked his hips.

It was different this way, more intimate, and Ed found he preferred it. There was an eroticism of having the man on his knees, a perception of objectification that the other man was nothing more than a vehicle for his pleasure but seeing his partner’s face, being able to kiss him and feel the press of their bodies, was infinitely more satisfying.

“Ozzy,” Ed whined against the other man’s lips, hips stuttering. “I—”

Ozzy cut him off with another kiss, wrapping his arms around Ed’s neck as he tightened his legs. In a move that Ed would marvel at later, Ozzy flipped them over, Ed slipping out of him in the process.

Ozzy didn’t let him say anything before he reached between them, aiming Ed’s cock for Ozzy to sink back down on it. Ed wrapped his hand back around Ozzy’s bobbing erection, messily pumping him, while he watched the man bounce eagerly up and down on him. 

“I’m going to—” Ed said, voice rough.

“That’s it, baby,” Ozzy said, breathless as he ground down harder. “Come in me; give it to me.”

Ed came with a loud, savage groan as he bucked his hips up into Ozzy, emptying himself into the condom.

Ozzy rode out Ed’s orgasm, fucking himself on Ed’s slowly softening cock as he desperately stroked himself until he came with a desperate moan, covering his hand and Ed’s stomach with long strips of come.

Ozzy slumped over, spent. He pressed his forehead against Ed’s chest as they each caught their breath. With a little groan and wince, Ozzy rolled over, and Ed slipped out of him.

“I got you,” Ozzy said, getting up to discard the used condom in the trash can. Ed was too tired to pay attention, only partially noticing when Ozzy re-emerged from the bathroom with one of the cheap scratchy hand towels.

Ed hummed drowsily as Ozzy wiped off his come from his stomach. He managed to crawl under the covers when Ozzy pulled them back, and he was already half asleep by the time Ozzy turned off the lights and curled himself against his side, a warm comforting presence.

* * *

When he woke up the next morning, muscles sore, he wasn’t particularly surprised to find that Ozzy had raided his wallet for the remaining cash and taken off with all his credit cards. He had no doubt that if he called his banks, he’d find a multitude of outlandish charges and that it’d be a headache to sort out. He knew he should be angry, furious, or ashamed.

But instead, when he found the little piece of paper, clearly torn off a hotel notepad, with a doodled cartoon penguin winking and blowing him a kiss, Ed thought he might be just a little bit in love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo, I wasn't going to start a new project, but this bug caught me. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I have a thing for prostitute!Oswald, what can I say? This story is pretty self-indulgent and will be a mix of romance, smut, and angst. If you are concerned about any of the warnings, please reach out to me on [Tumblr](https://chierei.tumblr.com), and I can answer any questions. 
> 
> Also, please excuse any typos or errors! I'm writing these projects as part of NaNoWriMo and to maximize writing time and posting, I am abbreviating my editing phase for a faster turnover. <3
> 
> Huge thanks to Viv and Alba on Discord for writing that riddle! Want to [join us](https://discord.gg/yXg9WMP)? 
> 
> If you enjoyed, please take a moment to let me know what you thought! Comments always make my day and inspire me to write more. <3


	2. Chapter 2

Oswald slipped into the apartment he shared with his mother in the early hours of the morning, arms loaded with fresh groceries that he had bought from the all-night market down the street. The sun had just crested over the horizon, lighting up the small space with its warm yellow-orange glow and sending long shadows over their aging carpet.

He had gotten lucky last night—when the moron hadn’t picked up the clear and obvious signs of the pick-up bar, he had thought he had just wasted a load of time. He hadn’t been looking forward to heading back to the club and having to find another target—especially when the john had seemed so promising. He was decently good looking, nervous as hell, and clearly pretty loaded—people didn’t stay at _The Beaufort _unless they had a few hundred to throw around for a night.

He was glad he hadn’t gone with his first instinct which was to insult the man, because it had turned out pretty well in the end. The man’s wallet yielded another four hundred dollars in cash (_what idiot carried around that much cash and wasn’t trying to pick someone up?_) and racked up almost another grand in charges at various stores around town before he had ditched the cards.

He almost felt sorry for the guy, but he figured he had given the guy his first mind blowing orgasm, so they were even. The guy had been so out of it afterward that Oswald had even taken the time for a quick shower.

All and all, it had been a good night.

“Now, my boy comes home!” Gertrud said, coming out from the bedroom and wrapped in a second-hand dressing gown that Oswald had found at a consignment store. It was a dusty rose color and silk with cream lace that had all of the old world glamor that his mother loved. It had cost Oswald the better part of the bonus Ms. Mooney had given him but had been worth it to see his mother’s face when she unwrapped it.

Now, Oswald was almost regretting giving it to her as she screeched at him, the long sleeves thrown up as she gesticulated madly.

“You leave your mother at home all night, worrying sick, as you go gallivanting off with some—some trollop!” Gertrud continued.

Oswald sighed, setting down the bags of groceries on the counter. “Mother, I told you: there is no trollop.” If she only knew—Oswald hated hiding things from his mother, but he couldn’t tell her why there would never be a trollop and, if anything, _he_ was the trollop. “I told you last week that Ms. Mooney wanted me to work the night shift for awhile.”

“Night shift end hours ago!” Gertrud insisted even as she started to sort through the groceries. Oswald let her, knowing he would just get in the way.

“The shift ends when the club closes, Ma. I got off an hour ago and then went to get groceries.” The lie rolled off his tongue smoothly after all these years. As far as his mother knew, he worked as a bartender and server at one of the nightclubs, which he _did_ on occasion, but there was no way a bartender would be able to provide his mother the kind of lifestyle she deserved.

Whoring came easy to Oswald—he had always been good at reading people, at knowing what they wanted, so what did it matter if he let them fuck him too? He had no shame in it, not anymore, and he’d allow a thousand men to have their way with him as long as he was able to keep his mother happy.

Not to mention it paid substantially better than waiting tables or mixing drinks. Even after Ms. Mooney’s cut, it kept him well enough in money to afford their modest apartment in one of the better areas of Gotham and a variety of small luxuries. He had convinced his mother to quit her second job a year ago, and now she only worked part-time as a cook at the Hungarian restaurant that was more about giving her something to do than the extra income.

He watched as his mother exclaimed over the groceries. He had splurged a little, his previous night’s score making him a little more reckless with his funds than usual. But it was worth it when she gave a squeal of delight, pulling out the small jar of acacia honey that he had purchased. She sometimes reminisced about how she used to make gingerbread when she was younger, and while she had attempted it with the cheaper honeys as substitutes, she always lamented that something was missing.

“Such a good boy,” Gertrud said, carrying the jar over to Oswald to she gave him a kiss. “I shall make mézeskalács today, yes?”

Oswald smiled. “I would like that, Mother, but I am going to take a nap first. I have to work again tonight.” Oswald was almost dead on his feet—he had picked up two other quick clients yesterday after he left the hotel and had managed a short nap in the back room of the club with a few of the other workers before the earliest stores started opening.

“My boy, always working so hard. I should have word with Ms. Mooney, working you too much,” Gertrud said with a frown as she looked at the tired sag of Oswald’s shoulders.

“It is nothing, Mother. I am grateful for everything Ms. Mooney has done for me. But how about I take tomorrow off, and we can spend the day together?” Sundays were one of his slower days—the end of the weekend rush but before the middle-aged men who were cheating on their wives were able to sneak away after work.

“You are good son,” Gertrud said, beaming and patting his cheek. “Now, off to bed.” She shooed him. “You look like, how they say, the dog drag in.”

“It’s what the cat dragged in,” he corrected absently, “but yes, I am very tired. Goodnight, Mother.” He gave her one last parting kiss on the cheek, before stumbling into what passed for his bedroom. In reality, it was really just a small partition off the side of the living room. He used to share a bedroom with his mother—however awkward that had been as a teenager—but he had moved into the living room shortly after he started working more night hours to keep from waking his mother when he stumbled home.

He changed himself into the threadbare cotton pajamas and slid under the sheets, falling asleep to the sound of his mother’s humming and the warm, spicy scent of her perfume.

* * *

Oswald only worked at _Avenue_ on weekends—the busiest nights where the young and desperate, or wealthy and careless, would be out. During the rest of the week, he split his time between actually bartending at _Mooney’s,_ private appointments, and working 24th Street.

Oswald sauntered out to his regular block, clad in a simple pair of black jeans and a tight-fitting purple v-neck, his black backpack slung over his shoulder with his nightly supplies. He amicably greeted the rest of the workers, all of which were Ms. Mooney’s. By this time, Oswald had learned the life story of every one of the men and women, had memorized all the little facts that he filed away in his mind until the day they might be useful.

“Hey, Penguin,” one of the girls, Jasmine, greeted, a cigarette held between her slim fingers and red claw-like nails. She was in body-hugging fuschia dress with sky-high heels that made her legs look like they went on forever, and she could have been any age between eighteen and thirty. _(Oswald knew that her real name was Ellie, who danced on weekends at another of Ms. Mooney’s clubs. She had a four-year-old daughter that her parents watched while she worked. They were both still under the impression that she was working as a night custodian at Wayne Tower.)_

“You know I don’t like to be called that,” Oswald said, trying to keep most of the hostility out of his voice. It wouldn’t do to make enemies out here—everyone had to watch out for each other or they were all fucked—literally and figuratively.

“Aw,” Jasmine teased, blowing a lungful of smoke in his direction, “don’t be like that, Ozzy. You know we love you.”

The others tittered in agreement, and Oswald squashed a sneer, instead holding out his hand to bum a cigarette off one of them.

Jamie_ (barely twenty years old, runaway, was homeless until he started working for Ms. Mooney, Oswald automatically recalled_) was the first to pass him one of his menthols along with his crappy plastic lighter.

Oswald took his first inhale of smoke, enjoying the burn and moment of lightheadedness that it always gave him. He gave a low purr of contentment, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure.

Jamie laughed, slipping the pack back into his pocket. “Needed that?”

“You have no idea,” Oswald said, blowing out a cloud of smoke. He had dragged himself out of bed after only a few hours of sleep when Ms. Mooney decided that she wanted Oswald to be part of her entourage for the day. Usually, Oswald would have been ecstatic—he had been working to gain her favor for years, and he knew she had a soft spot for him. She took a smaller cut of his earnings than from the others, always liked to have him near when he was working at _Mooney’s_ and called on him sometimes to accompany her on errands and meetings.

But he had been running on short sleep the last handful of days—his mother had contracted a mild cold that left her coughing all night and day. He had been splitting his time between work and caring for her. After taking the last Sunday off so he could take his mother out to lunch and then to watch a local play, he couldn’t afford to not work another day. Especially with the sudden turn toward colder weather—their heating bill was about to skyrocket, and winter was generally bad for business.

Oswald crushed the butt of the cigarette against the wall, watching the last of the embers burn out before he ground it under his boots. “So, how’s business been lately?”

As expected, the query launched a series of groans and complaints, each of them taking their turn to complain about one thing or another. Oswald kept one ear on their prattle, volleying more questions to keep them talking as he parsed out any useful information. Their conversation ebbed and flowed as cars drove past, some slowing down as they passed by the huddle. Their number fluctuated as some got into stranger’s cars or led men into the nearby alley, some returning after an hour and some gone for the rest of the night.

Oswald was coming out of the alley, tucking the fifty carefully into his back pocket as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand when Athena _(Abigail, twenty-two, taught art at the community center during the day) _waved him down.

“There’s Ozzy,” he heard her say to the driver of the muted green Nova through the open window.

Oswald made sure to put on a smile as he sidled next to the woman, bending down to see the driver. He didn’t recognize the car, but he had a few regulars that liked to come on Wednesdays. “Is someone looking for little old me?” he said.

His smile almost dropped when he saw who the driver was, but he managed to keep up the pleasant facade. Shit, he hadn’t expected his trick from last week to find him. He had pegged him as one of those repressed, nervous rich boys who would probably pretend the entire night didn’t happen. Instead, he was staring into the grinning face of the man he had robbed blind after fucking his brains out.

He couldn’t help but tense, his body language locking up even as he tried to smooth it out. Athena noticed, and she put her hand on his back and didn’t move away as she normally would when one of them was reeling in a client.

“Hi,” Ed said, waving at Oswald with an almost manic grin on his face. He was dressed just as primly as he had been when Oswald last saw him, with a full button-up and a tie that made him look even more like a nerd than he had remembered.

“Well, hello,” Oswald said, resting his forearms on the open window. “Ed, wasn’t it?”

If it was possible, Ed’s smile brightened. “Yes! You remember me! I went back to the club to find you, but they said you only work there on the weekends? But a very nice young lady told me that you might be here tonight. So here I am,” Ed said, losing his enthusiasm as he spoke until he trailed off, probably realizing how stalker-ish it sounded.

Well, at least he didn’t seem angry for a guy who had been robbed.

Oswald gave Athena a look and subtle nod that she returned before she strutted back to the group.

Now alone with Ed, he offered a fake smile. “So you are. What can I do for you, Ed?”

“Oh!” Ed said, as though he had forgotten why he had tracked Oswald down. “I was hoping you were free tonight? I, um, wanted to take you to dinner? Or, um,” Ed stumbled, and Oswald took pity on the guy.

“My rates are the same,” he said. “Two hundred an hour, six hundred for the night.”

“Well, technically, it was a thousand for the night plus another eight hundred and sixty-four dollars and seventy-two cents in credit card charges,” Ed said brightly, and wow, he way too happy for someone who was robbed. He was either rich enough or dumb enough not to care. Or both.

“And you still want me for the night?” Oswald said skeptically, raising a disbelieving eyebrow.

Ed nodded enthusiastically. “Oh yes, though, I would appreciate it if you didn’t empty my wallet this time.”

Oswald decided on rich and dumb. This could prove to be a lucrative cash cow if he played his cards right.

He pasted on his smile. “Deal. So the whole night?”

“Yes,” Ed said, leaning over the seat to open the door for him. Oswald slid into the passenger seat, setting his backpack in the footwell and giving the group a subtle nod that everything was okay, before turning to face his newest customer.

“Um, here,” Ed said, handing over a slim white envelope.

Oswald peaked inside of it and counted the crisp stack of bills rapidly, before folding it up to slip into the inside pocket of his backpack.

“So I’m yours for the night. Wherever are you taking me?” Oswald said, crossing his legs and shooting Ed a suggestive look from under his lashes as they drove off.

Ed blushed, an attractive pink that curved up his cheeks and made his stupid cheekbones look even more appealing. “It’s not too late, so I was hoping you’d be hungry? There is a Japanese restaurant by my hotel that I made a reservation for, but if you don’t like sushi, how about Italian? Normally, I would cook, but I am still in the market for an apartment, and I hate cooking in a strange kitchen—”

Oswald cut him grabbing Ed’s hand from where it rested on the gear shift. He had a feeling that the man would talk until he ran out of breath and died, and then he might continue talking anyway. “Hey,” he said, adopting the low, comforting tone that he used on nervous clients. “Relax, baby. We can do anything you want.”

Ed looked down at their touching hands, and the silence stretched until both of them jumped at the sound of a car horn. Ed mumbled “oh dear” under his breath as he shifted gears hurriedly, noticing that they had been stopped on a green light.

“So, um,” Ed said again, once they had comfortably settled back in traffic. “Sushi?”

“Sushi is perfect, Ed,” Oswald said, stroking his thumb over the back of the man’s hand, making the other man swallow and almost swerve into the opposite lane.

“Okay,” Ed said. “Good.”

Oswald left his hand on his for the rest of the drive. If some maniac wanted to play boyfriends, then Oswald wasn’t going to turn down some easy money.

* * *

This man was a mess.

It was no wonder he couldn’t get a real date. He probably tried to ask for a date and then vomited out a riddle instead. It had been irritating at first—Oswald had never been fond of riddles—but as dinner progressed, it became more endearing.

Maybe it was because Ed didn’t treat Oswald like a whore. Even his other clients who had wanted to take him out for “dates” had treated Oswald like they owned him, had flaunted their money or status at Oswald, as though he should have been grateful or in awe that they were letting him have a peek at their world of luxury.

Oswald knew this was all part of Ed’s little fantasy, but there were definitely worse ways he could have spent the evening than trying to guess answers to riddles while being fed high-quality sushi. (He even told Ed a rare truth about himself—that his favorite food was tuna—just so the man would order more. The fatty tuna practically melted in his mouth, and he couldn’t help himself from moaning in delight with each bite. Not to mention it was fun to see how red he could make Ed in public.)

“So you don’t even start work for two more weeks? And you are just planning to bum in a hotel while you look for the perfect apartment?” Oswald asked as he waited at Ed’s back for the man to unlock his hotel room—the same room as before.

“Well, yes. I am very particular about my living space, and I wanted to make sure it was ready before I had to divert any attention to work,” Ed said, holding open the door for Oswald to step through.

Oswald dropped his backpack onto the floor and sauntered brazenly to the bed. “So you are one of those posh rich boys who can spoil pretty things like me,” Oswald teased, leaning back on his arms on the soft bed.

“I mean,” Ed said, scratching his nose with downcast eyes and a half-hearted shrug. “My parents had a substantial life insurance policy. It’s not enough to live off of without working, but I’m not hurting for money.”

Oswald cursed inwardly to himself for stepping on in that minefield. Dead parents were the least sexy thing that someone wanted to talk about.

“I’m sorry,” he said, keeping his voice contrite.

Ed shrugged. “Don’t be,” Ed said, and suddenly he smiled, and there was an edge of something else in the smile, something secretive and dark that made Oswald heart skip a beat. “My dad was an asshole who got what he deserved.”

Oswald didn’t know what to say in response to that, so instead, he reached down to kick off his boots.

Luckily, Ed didn’t seem to care. “Would you like anything to drink?” he offered as he removed his own shoes and tie.

Oswald never took drinks from his clients unless they came from a sealed bottle or he grabbed it himself, so he shook his head. “I am fine, but thank you,” he chirped politely. “Come join me.” He had curled himself up against the headboard, the same position he had taken just a few days earlier, and patted the space beside him in invitation.

As expected, Ed took a seat, and Oswald arranged them so Ed’s arm was wrapped around his shoulder, and Oswald was nestled in the crook of his arm. Oswald didn’t half-ass anything, and if Ed wanted the full boyfriend experience then Oswald was going to give it to him.

“Can I kiss you again?” Ed asked after a few minutes in a comfortable silence. Ed had been playing with his hair while Oswald amused himself with drawing little patterns on Ed’s arm.

“You don’t need to ask every time you know,” Oswald said even as he tipped his head up expectantly.

“It seemed like the polite thing to do.”

Oswald rolled his eyes. “Just kiss me, Ed.”

Oswald hadn’t been lying the last time—Ed actually was an excellent kisser for a beginner. He didn’t try to jam his tongue down his throat as though he was looking for buried treasure but took his time, matching Oswald’s rhythm. Oswald could taste the after-dinner mint, and the sharp sweetness was a pleasant bonus.

He felt Ed press his hand under his thigh, hugging Oswald closer as he pressed his mouth harder against Oswald’s. Oswald let out a moan, only half-faked, and pulled back for a breath of fresh air. The reprieve was short-lived, Ed’s mouth chasing his own, and the press of their tongues together sent shivers down Oswald’s spine.

When the parted the next time, Ed’s hair was a mess. He hurriedly pulled his glasses off to toss them onto the nightstand, before trailing his mouth down Oswald’s neck.

Oswald gave another moan, raking a hand over Ed’s back even while he tried not to tense up. Some men liked to mark him up, and while Oswald loved the sting of pain and pleasure that biting gave him, it was also bad for business. Very few men liked to be reminded that someone else had just had what they were paying for.

“No marks,” he said, pressing a hand onto Ed’s cheek to bring him back up for another kiss.

Ed’s eyes darkened, but he nodded, nipping at Oswald’s bottom lip that made them both groan. He slipped his hands under Oswald’s shirt, running his bare hands up his ribcage to play with his nipples. He rucked up Oswald’s shirt to expose his chest before latching onto one nipple with his mouth.

Fuck, that did feel good. After the first time Ed had bitten him—and fuck that had _hurt_—he had been gentle since. Now the warm, wet sensation of a tongue around his nipple was a pleasant tingle.

He let Ed explore his body, letting out little appreciative gasps when he enjoyed something and remaining silent when he was apathetic. Ed picked up the hints quickly, and soon Oswald was genuinely writhing against Ed, jean’s unzipped and Ed’s hand wrapped around him in tight, rough strokes that were just fucking perfect.

But he was a professional, and he was going to be damned if he came before his client. He pulled away from Ed, looking at the man’s red lips that were just asking to be bitten again.

“I’m going to blow you,” Oswald declared, brooking no argument as he hurriedly undid Ed’s belt. He had barely worked Ed’s pants and briefs down to his thighs before he quickly ripped open a condom with his teeth. He shot a look up at Ed and winked, holding the condom in his mouth, the rubber ring fitting perfectly around his lips.

He bent down to set the condom carefully on the tip of his cock before rolling the latex down Ed’s cock with his lips and tongue. Ed bucked his hips, and Oswald pressed one hand against his pelvis to keep him still. He hated the taste of latex, but it was better than the crappy chemical flavor that flavored condoms had.

He worked his head up and down steadily until he had the heavy weight of a cock in his throat. He reached down to fondle Ed’s balls as he bobbed his head, rolling them in his hand. He used his hand when his mouth got tired, running his tongue from root to tip while giving Ed an absolutely filthy look.

He backed off to finish undressing, shimmying out of his jeans and taking out the pack of lube and another condom to toss to the side. By the time he was finished, Ed had managed to remove his own clothes.

“How do you want me?” Oswald asked, handing Ed the packet of lube, assuming he wanted to prepare Oswald himself again.

“On your back,” Ed said after a considering pause, voice ragged in a way that meant Oswald knew he was doing his job right.

Oswald laid onto his back, his legs falling open to allow Ed kneel in-between them. He always stretched before he left, and after all these years, he could take a dick without any prep as long as they used a little lube. But it was still nice when a client liked to take their time.

He lazily stroked himself, allowing Ed to arrange him so one leg was hoisted over his shoulder. He gave a soft noise of encouragement at the first touch, relaxing his body so the first finger slipped in with nothing more than the soft scrape against the sensitive nerves. He closed his eyes as he focused on the sensation of his partner, the hand on his ankle and then stretch of two, then three fingers.

He let out a loud gasp when Ed pressed against his prostate. Fuck, yes.

Oswald opened his eyes to give a smile when he felt Ed pull out his fingers, the press of his cock a warm pressure against his thigh.

“Come on, Ed,” he challenged, arching his back and spreading his legs further apart. “Fuck me like you mean it.”

The stretch of taking another man in him never get old—Oswald gave a loud moan at the feeling of fullness, at the pain that the stretch still gave and the even better feeling of how _good_ it always felt. He liked sex, he liked how it felt to be fucked good and hard, liked to know he could control even the most powerful of men with his body. It was one of the reasons he did this job in the first place other than money.

Ed started a rough pace—fast and sloppy but still good. Every few thrusts, he’d scrape against Oswald’s prostate, sending tremors of pleasure through him. “Yes, that’s it,” Oswald said, encouraging Ed as he wrapped his arms around his neck and held on for the ride. At some point, Ed snaked his hand in-between their bodies and wrapped his long fingers around Oswald’s cock and pumped it in time with his thrusts. It wasn’t quite enough pressure to get Oswald off, but it was pretty damn close, more teasing and frustrating than satisfying but he was used to it.

He knew Ed was close, could feel in the stretch of tension in his shoulders and how his hips stuttered and were becoming more desperate. “That’s it, Ed. Fuck, you feel so good in me,” he said into Ed’s ear. Some men wanted him quiet, but Ed was clearly the type who wanted to hear him, wanted to feel powerful and desirable.

Ed came with a tremor, pressing his mouth against Oswald’s in a long, open-mouthed kiss to muffle his growl. The kiss was more teeth and tongue than anything, but Oswald gave it his all, scraping his nails against his scalp as he rode out the rest of his partner’s orgasm.

Ed slumped against him, sweat covering his back and his breaths coming out in heavy heaves. Oswald hummed gently in his ear as he petted his hair, ignoring his own erection.

Ed propped himself up and looked down. “Oh, I’m so sorry, you didn’t—”

“Shh,” Oswald said as he always did. “It’s okay, babe. This is about you.”

But Ed shook his head, slipping out of Oswald and making them both whimper a little at the loss. “No, I want to. What do you want?”

He’d love to see Ed’s mouth on his cock, but that was asking too much. “Just touch me,” he said instead, smiling.

He had expected a quick helping hand to get him off, fast but a little unsatisfying, but what he got instead was two fingers sliding between his legs and into his still loose hole. He gave a gasp in surprise, legs spreading open further out of instinct.

He met Ed’s eyes, half-lidded and misty with pleasure, and saw the smug look of satisfaction that seemed incongruous with the man he was getting to know. But then he didn’t think of much else when Ed curled his fingers just so again.

Oswald came with a shudder, spilling over Ed’s hands that been jerking him off and with Ed’s long, beautiful, fucking amazing fingers still pressed inside him.

He opened his eyes blearily, accepting the come covered fingers that were pressed insistently at his lips. He opened his mouth to pseudo-eagerly lick his come off Ed’s fingers, wrapping his tongue around and between the digits suggestively. It was a common enough occurrence that the taste of his own come was familiar.

The kiss that came after was less common, but it was still nice.

Ed fell asleep almost immediately again. Oswald had gone to the bathroom to clean himself off and had returned to find the man curled up on top of the hotel sheets, dozing lightly. It was a little charming—the man had this boyish, eager-to-please charm that was kinda cute.

Like a puppy. A stray puppy.

Oswald glanced at the time and considered his options. It was still too early to head home without too many questions, and the back room at the club was a good place to catch a short nap but not to get any real sleep. And Oswald was exhausted.

Making a decision, he managed to coax the drowsy man under the covers before he clicked off the lights. He crawled under the sheets on the other side of the bed, his back to the other man. He just needed a few good hours of sleep—he’d be up and out of here before Ed woke up.

He was asleep before his head hit the pillow.

* * *

Oswald knew he had fucked up when he woke up to the sun in his eyes and the sound of someone, who was _not his mother_, singing softly. He cursed himself. He must have been much more tired than he had thought—he hadn’t made such a rookie mistake since he was, well, a rookie.

He made a show of waking up, stretching his arms and letting the sheet fall to his waist in a move that was carefully calculated. He blinked the grime out of his eyes and looked up to see the wide, toothy grin Ed was giving him.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he chirped from where he was sipping a cup of tea. The small table that every hotel room seemed to provide was covered in metal clothes with barely enough additional room for Ed’s saucer.

Oswald gave him a warm look, hiding his annoyance at himself. “Good morning, Ed,” he murmured, trying to make it more of a seductive purr but it was off the mark as Oswald was still trying to wake up. He discreetly checked the time. Shit, his mother was going to be insufferable—he was expected home an hour ago.

“Would you like a cup of tea? I also ordered us some breakfast, and it should still be warm.” Ed poured a second cup from the tall silver pot and started to unveil the multitude of plates that had been hidden beneath the silver domes. Oswald spied a waffle with fresh strawberries, some scrambled eggs and bacon, toast, a bowl of fresh fruit. “I didn’t know what you liked so I ordered a little bit of everything,” Ed chattered on as he stacked the domes to the side. “Sugar and cream?”

The question startled Oswald out of his thoughts. “Yes, please,” he said, ingrained courtesy saving him. “Two sugars and cream.”

Ed handed Oswald the newly doctored cup of tea with its saucer, and Oswald took a sip without thinking. Not quite as sweet as he usually liked it, but the familiar scent of black tea and cream helped banish the last of the fog of sleep. This was another reason he hated staying for the morning after—he always felt so vulnerable in the daylight, stripped of his armor and persona he carried with him at night.

“Thank you, Ed,” he said from under his lashes, grasping to put himself back together again for his client.

He excused himself to the bathroom, scooping up his scattered clothing and backpack on the way. He quickly relieved himself before splashing water on his face, the cold water helping wake him up. His hair wasn't as bad as he had feared, and he used a little water to comb it back into place with his fingers. His makeup was a mess though--smears of eyeliner and mascara created the impression of heavy bags under his eyes, and his freckles were shining through where the foundation had worn off. He quickly refreshed himself—redoing his makeup with a rushed hand and slipping into his change of clothes.

When he re-emerged, he felt a little bit more like Ozzy and less like Oswald.

Ed brightened when he walked back in, looking up from where he had been picking through the fruit salad to remove all the pineapple.

“I should really get going,” Oswald said and watched as Ed's face dropped. Oswald wanted to sigh but suppressed the urge.

“Look, Ed,” he said, setting his bag on the bed so he could perch himself next to it and trying to keep his tone contrite. “You're a nice guy and as a nice guy, I'm going to tell you not to get too attached. I'm not your boyfriend. I'm a whore,” and Ed flinched at the word, but Oswald was only speaking the truth. “You need to remember that. This,” he said, spreading his arms to indicate the room, “is a fantasy.”

Ed dropped his head, looking even more like a kicked puppy with how his hair, loosely curled, flopped over his eyes. “Yes, I'm sorry. I'm not used to—well, I've been told that I am often too forward. I apologize if I made you uncomfortable,” he said to his hands he had clenched in his lap.

Oswald stood, shouldering his backpack as he ruffled Ed’s hair, trying to dampen the impact of his words. “It's fine, babe. Just don't forget that this isn’t real life.” Oswald had made the mistake of letting clients get too attached in the past, and the extra money just wasn't worth it.

Ed hurriedly stood to walk Oswald to the door. “Can I still see you again?” Ed asked shyly before Oswald could slip out. “Are you available on Saturday?”

Oswald gave his flirtiest smile, relieved that he hadn’t lost a potential regular. “I could be free. All night again?”

Ed nodded. “Can we meet earlier? Of course, I’ll pay for the extra time,” he hurriedly added.

Oswald cocked his head. “What time did you wish to start?” He had an afternoon appointment with a long-time regular that afternoon that, while not as lucrative of a client as Ed, had been a steady source of income for almost a year.

“Seven?” Ed said, more a question than an answer.

That meant that Oswald would still have two hours to shower and change between appointments. He never took them back-to-back unless a client had specifically requested it; some men liked knowing that someone else had just had him.

Oswald did the calculations in his head. It was two more hours than previous nights with Ed, and his time never scaled linearly anyway. “A thousand dollars and you have me until, let’s say nine.” He had a feeling that the rejection of today’s breakfast would be a sore point if Oswald didn’t find a workaround. And Ed was an easy enough client that he didn’t want to lose him now.

“Perfect,” Ed said. “So, I will meet at seven in the lobby?” he confirmed, talking as if Oswald might change his mind at any second.

“Seven is great.” Oswald dug into his bag for a pen and grabbed Ed's hand, scribbling out a familiar string of numbers in sharp black ink on his palm. “This is my number. Call or text me if anything changes.”

Ed hugged his hand to his chest and nodded, eyes wide.

“Good,” Oswald said and smirked. He pulled Ed down to his height by his shirt collar and gave him a wet and filthy goodbye kiss. “Something to remember me,” he said in a purr. “Bye, Ed.”

He waited until he heard the door slam shut behind before he relaxed. He exhaled heavily, running a hand through his hair and stretching out his shoulders. Fuck, he needed to get himself back together; he couldn’t believe he had actually fell asleep with a client.

Maybe he should take a day off. If Ed could provide another source of steady income, he might be able to afford to take Tuesday nights off. Maybe. He considered the logistics as he walked to the elevator, only then taking out his personal cell phone and wincing at the string of missed calls from his mother.

He debated calling her back, but knew that she would be a nightmare to try and calm down over the phone. And he still had to grab a shower at the club to wash off the stench of sex from him.

He sighed, sliding the small device into his back pocket. Just another night, just another day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Will there be porn in every chapter? Probably. 
> 
> Apologies for the longer wait—again, this month has been primarily dedicated to NaNoWriMo. I hit my 50k on November 23rd though! So I can slow down the writing and work on editing stuff to make it postable!
> 
> Please let me know what you think in the comments! <3 Every word you leave me gives me a little boost of love and motivation. <3


	3. Chapter 3

Apartment hunting was not going well. Ed didn’t know if he was too picky, but every one of them seemed to have something excruciatingly wrong with them. They were either too small or too closed in or too new or too far. He crossed out another listing in the paper that was already covered in red scribbles of failed visits.

At least he had one thing to look forward to—Ed had two more hours before he would be able to see Ozzy again.

Ed knew he was getting too attached; he always got too attached. He had gotten too attached so many times before, and all those times had led to ridicule and heartbreak, cruel words and restraining orders. He hadn’t...he hadn’t _meant_ to, but he just _ached_ sometimes. And Ozzy filled that ache in him, patched up a few of the cracks in his heart just enough that it made Ed almost feel whole.

Ed found himself in the lobby, his habitual ten minutes early appearance lengthened to fifteen minutes due to nerves. He fiddled with his gold cufflinks, the dot of the question marks marked with small diamonds. He doubled-checked his pockets to make sure he still had the tickets, a nervous habit of paranoia and over preparedness that he had never been able to shake.

Ed fingered the plain white envelope, already sealed with a heavy stack of small bills to cover the payment for the night. He wrote _Ozzy _across the front in emerald green ink and tried to picture the weight of it as he would hand it to the man. He reminded himself, in these moments before and after, that this was a business deal, pure business.

Because when they were together, Ed wanted to pretend that the other man actually liked him, was there of his own free will, that Ed wasn’t a pathetic loser who couldn't find even a friend without paying for it.

He hadn’t been lying when he said he wasn’t hurting for funds—his father‘s life insurance policy had been substantials, and Ed, generally, lived frugally. He had made it through his undergraduate and Master's degree on scholarships and had amassed a sizable nest egg on his weekends spent in Atlantic City, counting cards and odds at the poker table out of boredom. Money hadn’t been an issue for him in years.

So, he felt justified for spending the amount tucked in the envelope in his inner jacket pocket. He knew nothing about Ozzy, not even his real name, though there was plenty that he could guess. Early to mid-20s, a hint of a Gotham accent mixed with something that was East European in origin. A smoker—Ed could taste the nicotine in his kisses along with the slightest yellowing of his fingernails as easily as he could read the signs of childhood malnutrition.

But he was also the only person who ever made Ed feel…normal. Ozzy looked at Ed like he was someone worth looking at, who listened to his rambles and laughed and kissed him like he wanted to.

Ed knew it wasn’t because he was desirable, but it was easy to pretend it wasn’t a business interaction. Ozzy was an excellent actor, and Ed allowed himself to be lied to, to fall for his manufactured charm because that is all he could get.

Ed checked the time, trying not to fiddle with his glasses. 6:59.

“Good evening, handsome,” he heard, and Ed turned, face lighting up at seeing his guest.

Ozzy was dressed a modicum less casual than usual—black slacks that were just as tight as skinny jeans with low heeled boots. His t-shirt was swapped out with a plum button-up and a cheap black polyester blazer that Ed tried not to crinkle his nose at. But he wasn’t any less beautiful than Ed had remembered.

“Oh,” Ed stuttered. “You look lovely,” he managed to say, trying not to sound dumbstruck.

Ozzy cocked his hip and walked up to Ed with a sashay that had to be purposeful. He ran his fingers down the lapels of Ed’s charcoal suit in a move that made Ed’s mouth go dry. “You are looking quite dapper yourself, Ed,” he purred. He raised himself to his toes to brush is a kiss to Ed’s lips, mouth parted just so to give a flash of tongue.

Ed couldn’t help but press to deepen the kiss, cupping Ozzy‘s cheek with one hand as he pillaged the man’s mouth with his tongue, tasting the lingering remains of cigarette smoke. He drew back, breathless and heart pounding in his chest.

“Someone missed me,” Ozzy teased, and Ed felt a glimmer of pride at the way his words came out just as ragged and breathless.

Silence fell back over them, and the awkward air started to settle back in. “Uh, here,” Ed hurriedly said, offering the white envelope out to the other man.

Ozzy grabbed it with two fingers and, without counting or even looking inside—they were in public after all—slipped it into an inside pocket of his shoulder bag. Ed briefly debated asking if Ozzy wanted to leave the bag in his room, but his need for timeliness won out over the courtesy, instead deciding to lead them to the entrance to flag down a taxi.

“So, what do you have planned for us tonight?” Ozzy asked, slipping his hand into the crook of Ed’s elbow.

“Well, you mentioned last time that you liked seafood, so I made reservations at _Jean-Georges_. I heard they had the best bouillabaisse in town,” Ed said. “But if you don’t like French food, I also made reservations at _The Lure_, which the concierge assured me had a quality raw bar—”

“I’ve never had French food,” Ozzy said, and Ed was grateful that he had stopped him from making more of a fool of himself. “So, I guess you’ll be my first.”

The innuendo wasn’t lost to Ed, who could feel the hot red blush reach the tips of his ears at the sly look Ozzy gave him.

Ed let Ozzy carry the conversation in the taxi and as they were seated. The waiter set the menus before then, excusing himself with a bow and leaving the couple alone again.

Ozzy opened the menu, and Ed watched as his face shifted to something incredulous. He looked at Ed, raising an eyebrow, and then chuckled. “I’m afraid I don’t read French,” he admitted, shutting the menu to fold his hands under his chin. “Order for me?” he asked, sanguinely sweet.

Ed blushed again but nodded. “Of course,” he said, managing not to stutter. He ordered for the two of them in blustering French, adding a bottle of white wine for them to share.

Ed watched the waiter’s retreating back, hands in his lap as he fiddled with his napkin. There was that awkward silence again, descending the moment when Ed didn’t know what else to do or say, and he could feel himself falling back into his nerves. He pressed a nail into his fingertip, trying to focus on the pinprick sensation.

Ozzy scooted his chair closer so he could grab Ed’s hand. He rubbed his thumb over the back of Ed’s hand, soothing him. “Ed, relax,” he said. “We are just two friends having dinner.”

Ed nodded, flipping his hand to have their palms meet and threading their fingers together. He grounded himself with the touch, taking slow breaths until his heart rate slowed back down to normal.

“So, how is apartment hunting?” Ozzy asked, taking a sip of his water but not pulling his hand away. It felt almost like a real date.

“Oh,” Ed said, glad for any topic to latch onto, “not good. I saw three places today, but none were quite right. The one place on East Bay might be promising.”

Ozzy snorted, the sound jarringly inelegant but cute. “Take my advice. East Bay isn’t the place for you. That’s Don Maroni‘s territory and not a place for any cop, not on his payroll.”

“But I’m..not a cop,” Ed said with a cock of his head.

Ozzy gave him a look that was on the edge of exasperated and maybe just a little fond if Ed was going to allow himself to be fooled. “Do you really think Don Maroni cares? Stick to around the precinct or between the Diamond District and Wayne Tower. Trust me on this.”

Ed filed the useful information away. He opened his mouth to say thanks when their waiter returned with their appetizers, forcing the two of them to pull their hands apart. The hot white porcelain tray was filled with half a dozen dips; the scent of butter and pesto wafted in between them.

“It’s escargot,” Ed explained as he straightened the small three-prong fork that the waiter had laid next to his plate. “It’s French for snails.”

Ozzy raised a brow. “You sure know how to impress a date, don't you?” Ozzy said with a smirk.

“You don’t—” Ed started to say only to be cut off by a laugh.

“Just teasing,” Ozzy said, picking up his miniature fork in one hand. He speared one fleshy piece, soaked through with butter, and popped it into his mouth. He let out an almost obscene sound at the taste. “Holy shit,” he said, eyes fluttering shut in pleasure as he patted his mouth with his napkin. “That’s amazing.”

Ed offered a shy smile, spearing one of his own. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. Try it with a slice of bread,” he suggested, demonstrating by setting the escargot onto a fluffy slice of white bread from the basket.

Ozzy followed his instructions, and Ed tried to ignore the way his moan of appreciation made certain parts of him stir in interest.

“Try it with the wine,” Ed said, pouring Ozzy a glass of the chilled chardonnay.

Ozzy took the offered glass, sipping it with relish. “You have to be careful spoiling me like this, Ed,” Ozzy said.

“I like seeing people happy,” Ed said, smiling down into his own food.

“Well, I’m afraid you found my secret weakness,” Ozzy said, putting another piece in his mouth with another low moan. “Because food tends to make me very happy.”

Ed preened. All Ed had ever wanted was to make someone happy—riddles, puzzles, facts, cooking—it was all so he could hopefully make someone smile one day. So knowing that he had done something right, even something small like choosing a good appetizer, made him glow inside.

The rest of the meal passed quickly. Ed was was eager to offer delicacies for Ozzy to try, enjoying the way his eyes would light up at the taste of champagne and chocolate tort. He had even been daring enough to lick away the spot of cream that lingered at the corner of Ozzy’s mouth. Ed offered his hand to him after the bill was paid, feeling high enough on confidence to pull him into a kiss, open mouth and sensual in a way that made Ed feel in control.

“So where to next?” Ozzy asked as they waited for the doorman to flag them a new taxi.

Ed smirked, the whisper of doubt having slowly faded into the back of his mind over the course of the dinner. He had his arm around Ozzy’s waist, fingers drumming against the curve of his hip. “I bought tickets to a show, _The Phantom of the Opera_.”

Ozzy lit up in excitement that Ed hoped was genuine. “Really?”

Ed nodded. “Have you seen it before?” Ed asked, opening the door of the taxi for Oswald politely before slipping in through the other side.

Ozzy shook his head. “No, but I’ve always wanted to,” he admitted.

Ed brushed a stray lock of hair back behind Ozzy’s ear. “Then I’m glad I can take you.”

Despite the cliché, _Phantom_ was one of Ed’s favorite musicals. There was a classic and melancholy nature to the piece that Ed could always relate to. He always felt for the Phantom—a man with nowhere to go, no one who cared and who let himself be the monster of their stories.

He escorted Oswald to their center orchestra seats, managing to settle themselves in just as the lights dimmed around them.

Ozzy had taken the opportunity to cuddle close, lifting the armrest that separated their seats to curl up against Ed as he watched the show. He kept their fingers interlocked, and Ed had a hard time paying attention to anything other than the feeling of his hand in his or the weight of his head against Ed’s shoulder.

They lingered at the end of the show, waiting for the crowds to dissipate before exiting. Ed hated crowds. “Did you enjoy the show?” he asked, oddly nervous for the answer because it was…nice. To attend a show with someone, to watch someone else’s joy over something he already loved. To share this moment with somebody else.

Ozzy’s smile was brilliant, and his eyes were shining like diamonds that made Ed feel a bubble of happiness, of joy that was still so foreign to him.

“It was amazing,” Ozzy said, and Ed could feel the rapid hammer of his pulse under his fingertips and where it rested over his pulse point. “My m–” All of a sudden, Oswald shut his mouth with an audible clack, stopping whatever he was about to say in its tracks. There was a shift in his body language that Ed could not read, a stillness, before it was replaced with a smile. He tilted his head up to kiss Ed chastely. “Thank you for taking me,” he said.

Ed ducked his head, blushing. “I’m just glad you enjoyed it.”

The ride back to the hotel was quiet, but there was an undeniable tension that sat between them now. Ed wanted to see that look on his face again, that moment of unguarded enjoyment that made him look so undeniably stunning.

Ed kissed Ozzy the moment the door swung closed, pressing the smaller man up against the wall so he could ravage his mouth. He pressed his knee between his legs, rubbing his thigh against Ozzy crotch to feel his slowly hardening interest. Ed pulled away, lips bruised to look at Ozzy’s eyes, the beautiful blue pupils blown wide.

“So forceful,” Ozzy said around the low moan he gave as Ed took the opportunity to trail kisses down his neck. "I like it."

“You are beautiful,” Ed said, burying one hand in his hair. His skin tasted like salt and sweat, and Ed couldn’t stop himself from nipping at the juncture between his neck and shoulder. “I want you," he said, low and hungry.

Ozzy whimpered. “You can have me, babe,” he said, pushing gently on Ed’s shoulder.

And something in Ed switched on at the words. He growled, deep and guttural, as he forced a rough kiss on the shorter man him again before dragging him over to the bed. He pushed Ozzy back onto the mattress, crawling over him to press him into the soft sheets.

He wanted to ruin this man, wanted to make his eyes light up in a way that he meant. He pushed the cheap blazer off his shoulders, pulling his top out from his trousers so he could trail his nails over the soft flesh of his stomach as he ran his tongue up to suckle gently at his nipple.

Ozzy squirmed under Ed’s ministration, head thrown back as he whimpered.

Ed unbuttoned the shirt with stumbling fingers as he continued to languish his tongue on Ozzy’s nipples, loving the way the man scraped his nails against Ed’s back. He sat back on his haunches, looking down at the man, his dark hair mussed and his eyes glazed in lust. He undressed himself hurriedly, tugging off his shirt and tie with only half a mind, before he palmed Ozzy’s back pocket, pulling out the familiar string of a condom and packet of lube.

Ozzy whined, bucking up to shimmy out of his pants before spreading his legs expectedly.

Ed trailed kisses down his chest as he ghosted his fingers around the man's hard cock, thumbing the tip. Ed fumbled with a condom, carefully tearing open the foil package to extract the latex prophylactic. Ozzy started when Ed set the rubber onto the tip of Ozzy's cock, rolling it down the other man with a gentle touch.

Ed gave Ozzy a measuring look as he bent down to lick tentatively at the tip, curious. He made a face at the taste of the latex that made Ozzy give a small chuckle. Ed pushed the rubber taste to the back of his mind, instead focusing on the new opportunity for exploration and learning. The stretch of a cock in his mouth was unfamiliar but not unpleasant. He dipped his head again, using his tongue to lathe down the shaft. He was careful to not scrape his teeth along the sensitive organ, instead of focusing on using his tongue and lips in an imitation of what Ozzy had done to him.

He tried to swallow Ozzy deeper, inadvertently calling up his gag reflex. He pulled off to try and cough discreetly, tinged with embarrassment.

Ozzy patted his hair. “Don’t push yourself, baby,” he said, but he was breathless and so hard.

Ed shook his head. “No, I want to. Tell me what you like?” he asked, suddenly feeling shy.

“Suck on the tip,” Ozzy instructed, gentle as though trying not to startle away a wild animal.

Ed obeyed, letting his tongue and lips explore the smoothed out ridges. He wondered what it would taste like without the condom. His cock twitched in interest at the thought, and he tucked it away as something to potentially explore at a later date.

“Now, slowly, take it deeper. Go slow, and don’t forget to breathe. Use your hand for whatever you can’t take,” Ozzy instructed, hands grasping at the sheets at his side as though trying to keep himself in check. The words were even, but Ed could feel the tension in his muscles under his hands.

Ed nodded, taking a deep breath before lowering himself down. He stopped when the head hit the back of his throat, instead using his hand to help start a messy rhythm. The sensation of another man’s cock sliding in and out of his mouth was heady, erotic, and it made Ed practically thrum with courage.

Ozzy gave a breathy moan and nodded as Ed stilled, suckling at what he could fit in his mouth. “Yeah, that’s perfect,” Oswald said, eyes shut and words quiet. “You can use your teeth, but very gently.”

Ed tried to nod, almost choking himself instead. He backed off a little until just the head was in his mouth and then worked to swallow Ozzy down again, scraping the edge of his teeth gently on the underside of Ozzy’s cock. The other man groaned, loudly, before cursing softly under his breath.

Ed started a slow routine, probing with his tongue and lips and memorizing what the other man appeared to like best. He ran his tongue down the underside of his cock to lick gently at his testicles, sucking on each lightly as he pumped him with long, firm strokes of his hand. Something was intoxicating about pleasing someone else, the weight on his tongue becoming comfortable, and he quickly got used to the taste of the latex.

He carefully trailed one hand down, brushing down and around until he pressed one dry finger lightly to the edge of Ozzy’s entrance. He could feel the man tense at the touch but then spread his legs wider as he arched up. Ed took it as a good sign and continued with the gentle probe, pressing in the tip of his finger as he lathed his tongue up and around the man’s cock.

It was different, feeling someone around him without the lubricant. The friction and heat felt vice-like around the tip of his finger as Ed slowly pushed it in and out. He could feel his own erection growing almost painfully hard, and he wanted—no, needed—to be inside.

Ed drew back, tearing the condom off his partner before reaching for a new one. He fumbled messily for the lubricant, spilling half of the packet onto the sheets as he worked to coat one hand and his erection. He had never felt so impatient. He slid one finger into Ozzy to the knuckle even as he crushed his lips against the other man’s, tongue insistent and demanding

He prepped the man hastily before he lined himself up and pressed into the incredible tight heat that he was becoming familiar with. “You,” he tried to say, trying to push past the part of him that wanted to just _go_. “Feel so good,” he managed to finish.

“You feel amazing,” Ozzy said, arching up until his back was off the mattress, wrapping his legs around Ed’s waist.

Ed couldn’t help but puff out his chest even though the little voice in the back of his whispered that it was all lies, fake—that Ozzy was a whore who was telling Ed what he wanted to know. The thought made Ed clench his teeth, and his grip on Ozzy’s waist tightened.

Ed thrust in and out, angling his hips until he found the spot that made Ozzy clench around him and beg, a slur of please-yes-there-yes-fuck. Ed grabbed him by the back of each knee to arrange him so each leg was over each shoulder and pushed into the hilt.

The move made Ozzy scream. “Oh, fuck,” he said, reaching his hands up to brace himself against the headboard.

Ed took it as a good sign and continued to fuck him in fast strokes as he pressed deeper into the man. Ozzy was amazingly flexible and before long, Ed had a knee hooked over each shoulder as he practically bent the man in half as he plowed into his tight body.

Ozzy came with a scream, shooting a mess of come onto his hand and his stomach as he clenched down tightly on Ed. His eye makeup was smeared, and his hair was a bird's nest and he was beautiful.

And it was this sight—of Ozzy, bleary and covered in his own semen, and the feeling of him sucking him deeper was enough for Ed. He came with a grunt, hips quickening as he rode out his orgasm.

He bit his lip when he finally pulled out, rolling over, so he was on his side and looking at the other man.

Ozzy had a content, lazy smile on his face, his stunning eyes glazed in post-coital bliss.

Ed couldn’t help himself. He leaned in to kiss him on the lips, gentle and slow like they were real lovers. “Thank you,” Ed said soft and shy against the other man’s lips.

Up close and without his glasses, Ed could see every freckle on his face that he hadn’t noticed before, could see the shadow of his lashes against his cheek, and the endearing point of his nose. He lazily raked a hand through his hair, enjoying the feeling of the soft black strands and the sound of the content little moan he got as he raked his nails along Ozzy’s scalp.

Ed fell asleep to the sound of Ozzy’s breathing and the feeling of soft skin under his fingertips.

* * *

Ed woke up the next morning to the pink-orange sunlight that had just started to crawl across his floor, the furniture casting long shadows. It took him a moment to realize where he was—hotel, Gotham—and another moment to remember why there was the press of a warm body along his side.

A quick glance at the time made his heart calm down—he was worried that he wouldn’t have woken up in time to have breakfast with Ozzy, but the clock showed still two hours until he had to leave.

Ed shifted a little, trying to extract himself from the bed without waking his companion and suddenly blushed. His body had enjoyed being up against Ozzy as well, and the hard ache of a morning erection was making itself known. He was pressed up against the other man's backside, and every movement ground the sensitive organ against the plush backside. He could remember how good it felt to be inside him, how soft and hot and tight and—

“Well, good morning to you, too,” a voice interrupted. Ozzy peeked over his shoulder at Ed who had just noticed that he had been grinding his cock against him and had likely woken up the other man. The thought made him flush, cheeks feeling hot.

“Good morning,” Ed said. “I was, um,” he stumbled, unsure of what to say and then unable to say anything when Ozzy arched back to press his ass even harder against Ed’s groin, encouraging and rocking back into him.

“You were what?” Ozzy said, not bothering with coyness.

And Ed could hear more than see that smile, the smirk that was just the edge of teasing and cocky, and the sight of the pink tongue that would probably be peeking out from behind his teeth. The thought of it only made him grow harder and he growled, biting gently at the smaller man’s shoulder as punishment in a boldness that felt both foreign and just right.

“I was just thinking about how tight you were last night,” Ed murmured into Ozzy’s ear, voice dropped an octave and husky. “I was thinking about how good it felt to fuck that sweet little ass of yours.” Ed couldn’t believe the words coming out of his mouth, and part of him wanted to retreat, to apologize, but the other half just _wanted_.

_He looked so sweet taking our cock last night. So good, so beautiful under us. Wouldn’t he look so pretty begging for us, wanton like the pretty little whore he is?_

Ed groaned into Ozzy’s shoulder at the thought, continuing to grind himself against the other man, steadying himself with a hand on the man’s hip. His arousal was in full force now, the soft feeling of skin and the pleasant friction of their undulating bodies.

He pushed the smaller man onto his stomach, rolling on top of him so he could rut himself against his soft backside, dragging the length of his cock along his crack.

_Don’t you want to fuck him again? Push your cock into that ass until he’s begging?_

Ed moaned, picking up the pace as he couldn’t help but listen to the voice in his head, egging him on. He could feel Ozzy pressing back against him, his soft little gasps only half-muffled by the pillow. He sat back on his haunches, letting himself take a moment to admire the expanse of pale skin before he grabbed an ass cheek in each hand.

He massaged the mounds roughly, spreading him apart to take a look at the dark pucker. He pressed a thumb in, watching as it sank in easily and the way it made the body under him shiver. He looked around, finding lubricant and condoms still on the nightstand. He leaned over to grab them both, seized with the urge to be back inside.

He hastily tore open the packet of lubricant, mindless of the way it dripped down his hands and onto Ozzy’s back. He messily smeared it over the other man’s backside, rubbing his fingers in and around his entrance. He dipped in two fingers and then three in short order, barely paying any attention to the way the body under him squirmed.

He rolled down the condom, smearing any remaining lubricant along the length before he was positioning himself, holding himself steady as he pressed in.

Ozzy was still loose enough from the night before that Ed sank in easily, tearing a gasp out of both men’s throats. Ed wasted no time, pistoning himself in and out of the other man’s body, reveling in the warm, tight grip his ass had around his cock.

Ozzy responded eagerly, or as eagerly as he could with his face pinned into the mattress, but he rocked his body up as best he could in his position.

Ed growled, wanting to hear him, see him. He pulled out abruptly, ignoring the whine from the other man, and shoved him onto his back. He grabbed the other man by under the knees, pulling him up until his weight was primarily on his back shoulder blades and bending him in half, his knees pressed up against his chest.

Ed slipped back in, eyes focused on Ozzy’s face, on the wide stormy eyes and the way his mouth fell open in a half moan.

Ozzy held himself open for Ed, hands hooked around the back of his knees as Ed thrust into him. “Fuck, baby, yes,” he said, words coming out shaky and wanton. “Fuck me like that. Give me your cock just like that,” Ozzy said, messy and slurred with his eyes half-open.

Ed crushed their lips together, biting at his bottom lip as he grabbed Ozzy by the hair roughly, tugging it in a way that made Ozzy groan in something that was more pain than pleasure. Ed continued the pace, hips jerking back and forth, desperate and animalistic.

“So good,” he heard himself saying into Ozzy’s ear. “So fucking good for me, aren’t you? Taking my cock so perfectly; you are so fucking perfect.” He could feel the sharp pain of Ozzy’s nails digging into his arms over the rush of blood in his ears.

Ed came with a final hard jerk of his hips, hand twisted around Ozzy’s cock as he hurried to get the other man off. He gasped into Ozzy’s shoulder as the smaller man came with his own shout, shivering as he clenched down around his softening and oversensitive cock.

Ed pressed his open mouth against the other man’s, coaxing his tongue into a slow, languid kiss as he came down from his high. He could feel the sticky feeling of cooling come on his chest. The ache of his muscles made him tremor as he fought to regain his breath.

Ed kept his eyes closed as he continued to kiss the other man, reveling in the feel of skin to skin, the intimacy of the post-coital moments, and…

He ached.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's day! Please enjoy my humble offering of smut. <3 
> 
> But really, I have been sitting on this chapter for a few months, and I am not quite happy with it. But, I didn't want to hold out any longer, so I figured today was as good as a day as any! Please let me know what you thought in the comments. Every comment makes me smile! <3


	4. Chapter 4

Oswald let the other man order breakfast while he took the opportunity to take a hot shower. He let out a groan in relief at the feeling of good water pressure and almost scorchingly hot water against his back. He could feel the sting against what was probably scratches on his back, and he tipped his head back so he could wet his hair.

He may have only known Ed for three days cumulatively but this morning had felt different than the previous times--the man was getting decisively bolder with each encounter, more willing to take what he wanted. Oswald wondered if it was because he was learning what he wanted or if he was just becoming more comfortable with Oswald’s presence.

For a first-timer, he was learning quickly. Oswald usually spent the first few sessions with a newbie having to coax them that everything was okay. But last night and this morning, Ed had taken charge and Oswald couldn’t deny that he enjoyed it more than a little. He had, despite how he had made it seem, been concerned about keeping Ed on as a client. He knew the type--clingy, shy, and poor social skills. This was a poor mix when it came to those they paid for his company--they had the bad habit of getting possessive, obsessive.

Oswald had considered canceling, but he wasn’t in a position to be so picky. But he had seen what had happened to other working girls and boys when a client got obsessed, had felt it first-hand once upon a time, and he didn’t want to relive those nightmares.

But Ed had been easy to spend the evening with--Oswald hadn’t needed to fake interest in dinner or the show, and the sex had been good enough. Maybe it all had been too easy; he had almost slipped the night before, almost told a real truth before he caught himself. But Oswald has always wanted to go to _Phantom of the Opera_, had owned an old vinyl record that he bought at a thrift store years ago and loved to listen to.

Oswald shut off the shower, shaking himself out of his thoughts. He focused on getting himself back together again, slipping into a clean set of clothes and re-applying his makeup. He carefully hid the array of freckles under a thick layer of foundation before dusting plum eyeshadow over his eyelids. He lined his eyes sharply with eyeliner, knowing men tended to like his eyes the best.

By the time he re-entered the room, Ed was carefully setting the small table. Three plates of food--blessedly less than what the man had ordered the last time--and a small pitcher of orange juice in addition to a small plate of assorted tea bags. The smile Oswald got upon entering was brilliant, and Oswald could admit that Ed was pretty adorable with his natural curls and the way they fell over his eyes.

Oswald let himself lean into to kiss him before taking a seat, crossing his legs as he surveyed the offerings. He poured himself a cup of hot water, plucking a tea bag at random from the offerings, and smirked salaciously over the rim.

Ed ducked his head, spots of pink high on his cheeks, and Oswald hit another smile, more honest this time, behind a sip.

Breakfast passed, Oswald serving himself simple scrambled eggs and bacon from one of the trays while Ed picked out all of the pineapple from the fruit salad. Oswald watched as Ed bit on the cap of his red pen as he flipped through the morning’s classified ads in the paper, circling potential apartments of note.

“Okay, I can’t watch any longer,” Oswald interrupted, not able to stop himself when he saw Ed circling another ad for something that would only be a cockroach trap in a neighborhood that he would get stabbed in.

Ed looked up, his brows crinkled in confusion. “What?”

Oswald snagged the paper and pen out of his hands. “You are going to get eaten alive,” he said, skimming through the ads and crossing out the majority of circled ads with aggressive red Xs. He pointed to two ads as he spoke. “These two have potential,” he said and then circled a third, “and this one too if you don’t mind a slightly longer commute.”

Ed cocked his head, craning his neck to get a closer look. “How can you tell?”

Oswald scoffed. “I’ve lived here long enough to know. ‘Newly renovated’ means they painted the walls, ‘natural light’ means there is a hole in the ceiling, and ‘energy efficient’ implies there isn’t heating or air conditioning. These three have sugar-coated it, but not horribly so. That means the landlord probably isn’t a total asshole.” He handed the paper back to Ed.

Ed took it from him, staring at the paper like it was an alien.

Oswald wondered if he had overstepped--it wasn’t his place to butt into a client’s personal life, but honestly, Ed was going to get eaten alive if someone didn’t step in. The man had no poker face and too many excess funds--just ripe for someone to take advantage of. (Not that Oswald _wasn’t_ taking advantage of the man, but still. He preferred if no one else tapped into the well, so to speak.)

“You should come with me.”

Oswald blinked, unsure if he heard right.

“I mean,” Ed said, blushing as though he just realized what he had said. “If you are available. And of course, I can compensate you.”

“You want me to come help you look for apartments?” Oswald asked, raising an eyebrow. “There is a thing called realtors who do this for a living, you know that, right?”

“But I trust you,” Ed said as though it was just that easy. And maybe it was.

Oswald considered, popping a strawberry into his mouth to chew as he thought. He didn’t have any appointments or plans today, though he had planned to be home to spend a few hours with his mother. But… “Six hundred, and I’m yours until five.”

* * *

The first two apartments were a bust--not that Oswald had expected any differently. The first was clean, and that was the last good thing Oswald could have said about it. The “view” was a window that didn’t open--glued shut from years of layered paint--that faced an alley, and it had rough concrete flooring that was cracked enough that everything had a distinct tilt. The second apartment, the “artist’s loft,” was more of an abandoned attic--the exposed plumbing lending less of an industrial feeling than of simple age and laziness. The floors creaked worrisomely, giving under their steps from water damage and making it feel as if it would give away at any second.

The last apartment, the one Oswald had chosen, hadn’t been off to a promising start. It was on the top floor of a four-story brick building, with no elevator, and a landlord who practically reeked of impending clogged arteries and cheap cologne. It had taken him almost ten minutes to find the key for the apartment in question, and the walk up the stairs was an apparent exertion.

Once inside, though, even Oswald could admit it had promise. The studio was large--more extensive than what Oswald would expect, with large windows that allowed plenty of light in--for better or for worse. Oswald could spot the sign, the large upper shape of letters, that would glow annoyingly in the night. It was still covered in trash that had accumulated in the corners--a worn couch that looked like it was flea-infested along with a pile of what appeared to be vacuum parts. There were holes in the brick from what looked like bullets, and the lights flickered erratically.

Oswald watched as Ed walked through the space, taking in the dusty corners and exposed brick. He could already see that Ed was favoring this place--it was by far an improvement over the other two they had seen that day. All of its faults were purely cosmetic, and nothing a good clean or a handyman couldn’t fix.

“How much?” Ed asked after he had checked every faucet. He was in the middle of rummaging under the sink, checking for who knows what, while Oswald leaned against the windows.

The landlord could smell an easy target. “Fifteen-hundred,” he grunted, wiping his brow with a stained rag.

Oswald watched as Ed’s face fell, and he didn’t know what about it made him speak. “Fifteen hundred for this dilapidated shithole? _Please_ tell me you are kidding.” The derision was thick, and Oswald didn’t hide the roll of his eyes as he kicked off from his perch to stalk toward the man.

The landlord scowled at him, disgruntled. “Hey, this is a prime piece of real estate. You ain’t gonna find this kind of square footage for anything less. I have three other couples looking at it, but I’m willing to cut you a deal because you seem nice.”

Oswald scoffed, seeing through the transparent tactic. “Please, save yourself the embarrassment. You haven’t shown this apartment in probably weeks--it took you ten minutes to find the keys, and the dust shows no footprints other than our own. We’ll give you eight hundred for it.”

The landlord sputtered, straightening and puffing out his chest. “Why, you swine! Eight hundred? That’s robbery.”

Oswald cocked a hip, crossing his arms to stare up at the man with an unimpressed stare. “The appliances are old and need updating, the floor is cracked, the bricks need cleaning, there is no refrigerator, and let’s not forget the _giant neon sign_ outside the window.” Oswald snorted. “Factoring the lofted ceiling and age of the building means the heating bill will probably be high in the winter months, and this neighborhood? Not exactly the crowd who’d pay for whatever industrial warehouse look you are going for. Eight hundred.”

The landlord grumbled but didn’t argue any of the points. “I have to make money somehow,” he said, reluctant. “ I can do fourteen hundred.”

Oswald didn’t budge. “How about seven-fifty. Shall I continue to name its faults? I have no doubt there are dead rats in the walls, and I can see seven dead cockroaches from where I am standing. One corner has signs of water damage--as you can see from discoloration of the brick--and don’t forget the _giant neon sign._ The windows are too high and wide to install proper curtains, so unless you manage to find someone who is blind, I think your options are low.”

“Fine, fine. Twelve-hundred, and I swear to god, that’s the lowest I can do,” he countered with a fierce scowl.

Oswald smirked and said, “How about seven hundred, and I don’t tell Fish Mooney that you aren’t paying your fair share of tariffs for this neighborhood.”

“I-I don’t know what you are talking about,” the landlord tried to say, but the stutter and the pitch of his voice gave away that he knew _precisely_ what Oswald was talking about.

Oswald grinned, predatory. “I’ve had a chance to take a peek at her accounts, and if my math is right, you have been shortchanging her. If you were renting out all of your units in the neighborhood of fifteen-hundred dollars, why have you been paying her as though you were making nine hundred per unit?”

“You don’t know what you are talking about.” He was sweating, and his voice had lost all fire and confidence in the face of the threat.

Oswald stalked forward until they were almost chest-to-chest. “Don’t I? Well, I can make a phone call right now to check.” He pulled out his cell phone, flipping it open. “But you know how Miss Mooney hates those who are stealing from her. It’s not a mistake anyone makes twice for obvious reasons.” His grin was full of satisfaction, and he tapped the landlord on the nose with his phone. “So, we’ll take the apartment for six hundred and fifty dollars a month.”

The landlord opened his mouth, speechless.

Oswald made a shooing motion. “Now, off you pop to bring us the paperwork.”

The landlord closed his mouth with a snap, his face turning almost purple.

“Better hurry before I decide that this place is worth only six-hundred. Or, if you prefer, I can give Ms. Mooney a call. We are getting the apartment either way,” he said, “even if it needs to be under _alternative_ management.”

The landlord nodded, silent. “Yes, I mean. Of course. Give me a few days to prepare the lease--”

“Nu-uh,” Oswald cut off, holding up a hand to stop him. “You are going to walk out that door, go to whatever shithole of an office you live in, and bring back up a lease that I will go over with a fine-tooth comb. And if I decide I don’t like any bit of it, you have two choices: you drop fifty dollars for every mistake, or I start cutting off your fingers.”

The man swallowed.

“Understand?”

The landlord nodded.

“Good,” Oswald said, patting his shoulder. “Now, off you go.”

The landlord practically ran out of the room, not even bothering to close the door behind him.

When he was out of earshot, Oswald finally turned to Ed, who looked shell-shocked. Oswald flushed. He had practically forgotten that he wasn’t alone. “Oh, I’m sorry. I assumed you wanted this apartment--you appeared to have liked it, so I presumed.”

Ed opened his mouth and then closed it.

Oswald grew concerned. Had he fucked this up? “Ed?” he ventured, tentative. “Are you okay?”

Ed surged forward, crushing his lips against Oswalds with such fervor that Oswald had no choice but to grab his shoulders to keep his balance.

When they parted, Oswald was breathless and no less confused. “Not that I’m complaining but--”

“That was amazing,” Ed said, eyes blown wide as he stared down at Oswald. The look on his face was indescribable--caught between dumbfounded and admiration. “Magnificient. Absolutely stunning.”

Oswald blushed at the compliments, feeling uncharacteristically bashful.

“I would have paid fifteen hundred, but you somehow got the price to less than half. How…?” His voice was tinged with awe.

Oswald shrugged, averting his eyes. “Fair market value is probably closer to eleven-hundred a month, but he’s a snake who can smell fresh blood. Eight hundred was a lowball, but he was an easy target.” Oswald paused, swallowing and trying to get himself back under control. He needed to be in control of this, so he shifted his posture minutely. He tilted his head up a little, looking at Ed from under his lashes. “Now, you can save the extra money on more...entertaining things.” Oswald let his voice drop to a purr, trailing a finger down Ed’s chest even as he rubbed himself against Ed’s thigh.

Ed’s eyes grew dark. “Entertaining things, hm?” he said, his voice coming out as a growl--low and full of wicked promises. “Like you?”

Oswald giggled. “Well,” he said, “just a suggestion.”

Ed kissed him again, hands roaming until settling over his ass, massaging it as they ground up against each other. The door was still wide open, but there was no one else on this floor, and the useless space of the landlord would be at least thirty minutes in returning.

Oswald reached a hand between them, groping at Ed’s growing arousal. “How about we christen this place, hm?”

Ed growled in response, not answering except to skim his hands down to cup the back of Oswald's thighs.

Oswald took the hint, jumping up so Ed could carry him to the counter. It was just high enough that Oswald was a hair taller than Ed when sitting, and the angle was novel enough that Oswald enjoyed it. “Wanna fuck me, baby?” he said, purring and turning up the sex appeal. He spread his legs a little wider, trailing his hand down his chest as he bit his lower lip. “Wanna fuck me against this counter, the door wide open where anyone could see?”

Ed groaned, hands desperately squeezing Oswald’s backside.

Oswald felt him slip his hand into his back pocket, fondling for the string of condoms and pack of lube. Oswald leaned forward to assist, taking the opportunity to lick a strip up Ed’s neck and palm Ed through his pants.

Ed pulled back, working desperately at the opening of Oswald’s jeans.

Oswald spread his legs eagerly, lifting himself to help Ed pull his jeans and underwear down to his thighs. He expected Ed to push him onto his back or flip him over to mount, but he was pleasantly surprised when Ed swiftly rolled the condom onto Oswald.

Oswald threw his head back as Ed worked his mouth up and down Oswald’s half-hard cock. He tangled his fingers into Ed’s hair, pulling gently and trying not to buck into the wet, warm mouth. Oswald took a look down and groaned at the sight of Ed’s closed eyes and lips wrapped around him. Ed wasn’t quite able to take all of him, but he made it up with enthusiasm.

“Mm, Ed,” Oswald said, eyes half-lidded as he watched Ed bob his head. He occasionally pulled off to suckle at the head or try some other motion, and fuck, it felt good. Not many of his clients liked to give head, so Oswald had learned to enjoy it while he could.

Oswald whined when Ed finally pulled away, crushing his lips to Oswald’s as he helped him off the counter. He spun around obediently at Ed’s direction, bending at the waist and bracing himself against the countertop. He spread his legs a little wider, biting his lip when he felt the first press of a slick finger into him. He pushed back, taking it to the knuckle.

“Come on, Ed,” Oswald said, voice husky and daring. “You better hurry. You wouldn’t want your future landlord to come back and catch us, would you?”

Ed’s breathing hitched.

Oswald smirked, shooting a glance over his shoulder to look at Ed’s disheveled hair and dark eyes. His pants were opened with his cock pulled out, a condom already on to Oswald’s relief. “Or did you?” Oswald’s grin was practically feral. “ Just imagine the look on his face if he walked in to you fucking me. Would you stop? Or keep go-oing?” Oswald’s words stuttered as he felt the hard press of Ed against him. He bit his lip to stifle a cry as he felt the familiar burn of being stretched open.

Ed’s pelvis hit Oswald’s backside, having worked himself slowly into Oswald’s body. Ed paused, taking a moment to rest his forehead between Oswald’s shoulder blades, breathing labored.

Oswald clenched around him and grinned when Ed groaned. Oswald wiggled to shallowly fuck himself on Ed’s cock. He was standing on his toes, their height difference making it hard to gain enough purchase to do much more. His own cock was hanging between his legs, hard and wanting, and Oswald fisted it desperately.

“That’s it,” Ed said into his ear, deep and guttural. “Fuck yourself on me, darling. You feel so good, did you know that? So fucking good.”

Oswald keened, trying to quicken his pace as best he could. The angle was suboptimal still, and his orgasm remained frustratingly out of reach. He must have made some noise because Ed chuckled, amused. The sound was startling, dark, and teasing in a way that wasn’t like the shy virgin Oswald had met barely a week ago.

“Did you want me to help you?” Ed said, biting the top rim of Oswald’s ear.

Oswald made an inhuman noise and nodded.

“I want you to ask me to fuck you.”

Oswald felt like murdering him, his frustration growing with each thrust. “Please, Ed. Please fuck me.”

Ed hummed, considering. “I don’t know if you really want it that badly, Ozzy.”

Oswald gritted his teeth. “Ed, you better fuck me this instant, or I will _rip your balls off_ and then feed them to you.” He regretted the words the moment they were out of his mouth--that was too much of himself in those words--Ozzy would have begged prettily, spread his legs wider and cried for Ed while spewing more dirty words. Oswald was about to backpedal, apologize, beg, when he heard Ed’s laugh.

“That’s what I like to hear,” Ed said. “Your wish is my command.” He pulled out before snapping his hips back to slam himself back inside to the hilt.

Oswald screamed, heedless of being quiet, as he braced himself against the edge of the counter. He could feel Ed’s fingers digging into his hips, small pinpoints of pain that felt so good. Oswald bent over further, laying one forearm on the counter’s edge as an anchor so he could reach between his legs to stroke himself.

The air was filled with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh, the wet squelch of lubricate filling in the blanks. Both Ed and Oswald were reduced to moans and the occasional word--the _more_ and _yes_.

Oswald could tell Ed was close--his thrusts were becoming faster and more ragged until he came with a shout. Oswald clenched and groaned as Ed’s thrusting slowed. He quickened his hand, trying to get off before the other man recovered himself. The worst was to be left hanging, on the edge of coming but not quite. He was used to it by now, but _fuck_, he wanted to come.

Oswald almost jumped, too caught up in his own pleasure, when Ed reached around to cover Oswald’s hand with his own. He swatted Oswald’s hands away, taking their places with those long, delicious fingers.

Ed tugged at Oswald’s cock, his grip tight and glorious, and Oswald came, muffling his moan in his forearm. He felt Ed pull out, and he groaned again at the sensitive scrape of the man’s cock over his rim. The sound of a man doing up his belt was familiar. Oswald recovered enough to strip off the condom leftover from Ed’s blowjob--mildly thankful for it, so he didn’t have to worry about cleaning up. He pulled up his pants and put himself to rights before turning around.

And when Ed leaned down to kiss him, soft and gentle, Oswald closed his eyes and kissed back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys aren't done with me yet! ;) I hope you all enjoyed this tasty little snacc. If you enjoyed, please take a moment to drop a note in the comments! Every kind word is such a motivation to me. <3


	5. Chapter 5

“You have an extensive collection, Ed,” Ozzy remarked, flipping over one sleeve to read the back. Behind him, neat stacks of vinyl sleeves lined into the worn red oak shelves that he had pushed against the far wall. He had found it outside on the street outside his local library, ready to be hauled to the dump, and had refinished it. The warm hickory brown stain he had chosen matched the exposed brick of the wall to his delight. 

Ed would have to reorganize them properly later—first by date of recording and then by genre, sub-genre, and then alphabetical by artist last name—but it was easier to have it all laid out before he started.

It has been a full week since he had signed his apartment lease. They had managed to clean themselves up without minutes to spare before his new landlord had returned with the papers. Even then, Ozzy had sent him back twice more after one or two less-than-favorable clauses and knocked another hundred dollars off his rent. After they had returned to his hotel room to celebrate again in private, Ed hadn’t had a chance to see the other man again until today. Moving to a new city was time-consuming, and he had spent the entire week organizing the movers and shuttling himself back and forth to finish packing and close on his last lease. The movers had dropped everything up just that morning, and against his better judgement, he had called Ozzy to spend the day with him to help unpack his apartment. 

“Yes,” Ed said, not looking up from where he was organizing his kitchen equipment. He hadn’t yet decided on the best organization system. His last apartment had standard cabinetry, not the open shelving of his new loft. As a result, his typical system of organizing items primarily by frequency of use had to be modified to take into account the aesthetics of the space. “I started collecting when I was in college and found an abandoned record player out on the street. I fixed it out for curiosity, and I admit I have had a penchant for it since,” he said, experimentally setting a stack of bowls on one of the lower shelves. He took a step back, cocking his head as he tried to determine whether he liked it or not. He took the stack of bowls down, concluding he didn’t like it there after all. Perhaps closer to the sink would be better, as they were of the same height as the mugs though it would require an extra six inches of reach compared to his original placement.

He could hear the crack of Ozzy ripping off the tape of another box. He had few possessions despite his habit of collecting all sorts of exciting bits and bobs. His last apartment had been much smaller, and he had been forced to restrain himself from keeping everything that caught his fancy. Even as it was, outside of his collection of vinyl records, Ed had moved with the bare essentials. He had a small suitcase of clothing, a few boxes of kitchenware—his one other indulgence—and then the bare minimum of furniture needed to function. 

As a result, even with the stacks of packed boxes, his new apartment was exceedingly bare. The bed frame had been put together by the movers and placed next to the large metal sliding door. The small number of boxes labeled for the bedroom were stacked on the ground next to it. 

On the other side of the door were the remaining boxes as well as a threadbare green couch that he had dragged out of a dumpster three years prior. On the floor, with his back against the couch, Ozzy was sitting cross-legged as he rummaged through his record collection. He was only on the second box, getting distracted easily. He had been commenting as he worked, spending more time reading the backs of the album sleeves than actually unpacking. 

Ed didn’t mind. He knew that he could find someone much more efficient and much cheaper than Ozzy if he actually needed help unpacking. He had made the call regardless. There was something about sitting in his new apartment when it was still cold and clinical that made him yearn for the warmth and light that Ozzy brought with him. 

Never before had Ed felt so comfortable being around someone else. Even as they worked in relative silence, he didn’t feel awkward or out of place. It was calming, and it made the entire move seem less of an insurmountable task. 

He was startled out of his musing by the familiar sound of the scratch of a needle on a vinyl. He looked up just in time to see Ozzy sauntering forward. Ed could see that the man had unpacked the gramophone behind him and set it up on the ground.

“Come on,” Ozzy said, slipping his hand into the crook of Ed’s arm and giving it a playful tug. “I think we deserve a break.”

“We’ve been unpacking for less than an hour,” Ed said, pushing up his glasses from the bridge of his nose. “I still haven’t decided what organizational system I’m leaning toward for the kitchenware. I was considering—”

“Nothing like a break to recharge the brain,” Ozzy interrupted with a roll of his eyes. He tugged again to Ed’s elbow. 

Ed acquiesced, unsure what Ozzy wanted. 

“Come on,” Ozzy said with a touch of playful petulance, “dance with me.” He pulled him into the middle of the room just as the crooning of a trumpet overtook the smooth sounds of the alto saxophone. 

“I’m not a good dancer,” Ed admitted even as he let himself be pulled away from the kitchen with minimal resistance.

“I’ll teach you,” Ozzy said. “It’ll be like junior high. Here,” he said as he set one of Ed’s hands on his waist. He took his right hand in his own and put his free hand on Ed’s shoulder. “There we go.” The signature crooning of Louis Armstrong filled the room as Ozzy started a casual sway back and forth. “Do you know how to waltz?” he asked.

Ed shook his head. He didn’t think he had ever danced with a partner in his entire life, especially not in junior high.

Ozzy clicked his tongue in mock disapproval. “For shame,” he teased, but then continued, “It’s easy. First, step forward with your left foot.” 

Ed obeyed, watching as Ozzy mirrored his movement with the opposite foot. 

“Then step to the right with your right foot. Good, now over with your left. Back on your right foot. Step left, bring your feet together again, and that’s it.”

They repeated the steps, Ed mentally repeating the instruction in his head as he looked down at his feet. 

“See,” Ozzy said, “you’re a natural.” He was smiling, and it made his entire face light up. The crinkle in the corner of his eyes made it seem so much _more_ than his usual smiles. 

“Where did you learn to dance?” Ed asked, once he had gotten used to it and was mildly confident that he could do it without overthinking it. 

“Oh, you know,” Ozzy said, voice dismissive. “Around. It’s a useful skill to have. I have a few clients that like to take me to dinners and balls and whatnot, where a little skill in dancing goes a long way.”

Ed tried to imagine what Ozzy would look like at one of these balls. He pictured him in a cleaned-up tuxedo, hair brushed back and out of his face, leading someone around the dance floor. It seemed fitting somehow—Ozzy in his backdrop of elegance and opulence. Something must have shown on his face, because Ozzy gave his hand a light squeeze. 

“What are you thinking about?” Ozzy asked, keeping up their slow waltz. The music had changed, but they were barely listening to it as they kept the languid movements around the apartment. 

“Just thinking that it suits you. Dancing, that is.” 

“I’m glad you think so.”

They swayed together in amicable silence, just listening to the music as they moved. It was strangely comforting, having someone in his arms. Ozzy smelled like lavenders and vanilla, and he moved like a natural dancer. 

“What else can you dance?”

Ozzy smirked, giving him a coquettish look. “Is that a challenge, Mr. Nygma?”

Ed shook his head but returned the look with a smile. “No, no. Just curiosity.”

“Hmm,” Ozzy said, humming as he considered the question. “English waltz, like what we are doing, of course. Viennese waltz as well, foxtrot, tango, paso doble to just to name a few.”

Ed gave an impressed whistle. “Well, I am sorry that you are stuck with me as your partner.”

“I’m never stuck with you, Ed,” Ozzy said, tilting his head up so he could look at him from under his lashes. “You don’t give yourself enough credit. I found your box of sheet music. What instrument do you play?”

“Piano primarily,” Ed admitted. “I am hoping that I’ll be finally able to purchase my own. I have been using the ones on campus or at the community building to practice.”

“Hmm,” Ozzy said, humming as he led Ed around the living room for another turn. “Favorite music to play?”

“As trite as it seems, I favor Tchaikovsky. He has a very distinct style, almost discordant at times, that I enjoy playing.” There had always been something about his music that had resonated with Ed—all sharp edges that always made it thrilling to play. 

“Tchaikovsky, hm? Are you a fan of the ballet?”

“I’ve never been,” Ed answered honestly.

“You’ll have to take me some time,” Ozzy said, teasing. “The Russian Ballet comes to Gotham every year, and I have heard they are divine.”

Ed pictured taking Ozzy to the ballet at the Gotham Theater, dressed in tuxedos and arm-and-arm, and something in his chest yearned. “Well, I’ll have to.”

The current song died down, and Ed wondered if they should go back to unpacking. They had abandoned any semblance of a waltz at this point and instead were just pressed together and gently swaying somewhat in time with the music. 

When the next song started, however, Ozzy gave a little hum of satisfaction. “This is one of my favorites.” The slow trumpet solo started, and Ozzy hummed along.

When the refrain came, Ed pulled him closer and started to sing. “Quand il me prend dans ses bras,” he said, voice pitched to match the instrumental. _When he takes me into his arms. _His French was admittedly rusty, and he winced a little as he hit the wrong pronunciation, but the look of surprise on Ozzy's face was worth it. “Il me parle l'a tout bas, je vois la vie en rose” he sang, leaning in until he was singing in a low tone in Ozzy’s ear. _He speaks to me softly, and I see life through rose-colored glasses._

“Where did you learn French?” Ozzy said, sounding awed. 

“Oh, you know,” Ed teased, echoing back his words. “Around.”

“I bet you use it to seduce all the boys and girls,” Ozzy said, eyes sparkling and tongue between his teeth as he smiled. 

“Not all of them,” Ed said, voice dropping slightly as he tightened his grip on Ozzy’s waist and pulled him closer until their bodies were flush against each other. “Just this one right now.”

Ozzy exhaled sharply, and his eyes dilated.

“C'est lui pour moi, Moi pour lui dans la vie, Il me l'a dit, l'a jure pour la vie,” Ed sang, mouth almost touching his ear. _It’s only him for me and me for him, for life. He told me; he swore to me for life. _

He didn’t know who made the first move, but Ozzy’s lips were warm and insistent against his. Ed felt breathless already, pressed up against Ozzy, who had wrapped his arms around his neck and opened his mouth to trace along the seam of his lips. 

Ed opened his mouth and groaned at the feeling of Ozzy’s tongue rubbing against his own. He nipped at his bottom lip in retaliation, eliciting a strained moan from Ozzy. He pressed his thigh forward, feeling the hard press of his partner’s burgeoning erection. 

They had abandoned all pretenses of dancing, too focused on tasting and kissing and ruining the other. Somehow, they made it to the edge of Ed’s bed, still lacking sheets, but it didn’t seem to be of any concern to Ozzy, who pushed Ed onto it. 

Ed scooted back, giving them more room, even as Ozzy wasted no time stripping off his shirt. He threw it over his shoulder without looking, giving Ed a chance to admire the long expanse of skin. Ozzy was pale, with a dashing of freckles on his shoulders and a few small pockmarks of scars. There was a bruise on his upper arm that his shirt had hidden, a mottled purple-blue. He hadn’t had it a week ago, and it was still in its early stages of healing. 

Ozzy noticed his look and gave a dismissive shrug. “Occupational hazard,” he said as he stripped off his pants and underwear in one smooth movement. His cock was already half-hard, nestled in a thatch of neatly trimmed curls. He crawled on the bed, ignoring the way that Ed’s eyes could have consumed him twice over. “I think you are overdressed,” he said, tugging at Ed’s shirt. 

Ed slipped it off over his head before leaning back on his elbows. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest, feel the heat of the other’s man’s body against his. He wanted Ozzy—he needed to touch him. He placed one hand on the curve of his waist, running his thumb against his skin.

Ozzy groaned as he settled himself on Ed’s thighs, deft fingers undoing his belt in ill-concealed urgency. Every brush of his hand against his clothed cock was torture. 

Ed had been hard for who knows how long, and even the smallest amount of pressure made him buck and moan, hips chasing the feeling. 

“Patience,” Ozzy said with a smirk, slithering down his body. He pushed down Ed’s slacks and underwear, finally releasing his leaking cock. 

Ed hissed as Ozzy wrapped one hand around the base, squeezing. His grip was tight and hot, and it drove him crazy. He watched as Ozzy licked a long stripe up from the base to the tip, swirling his tongue around the head. He wanted nothing more than more of that feeling, wishing he could push his cock down the other man’s throat and _take_.

As though sensing his thoughts, Ozzy pulled away and gave Ed a smoldering look, his eyes darkened with lust. “Tasty,” he said, voice low. He had fished out a condom from who knows where, and in record time, he had rolled the latex down his cock. He wasted no time bringing Ed back into his mouth, and his tongue stroked the underside of his cock as he worked the rest of Ed’s length with one hand. 

Ed threw his head back, exhaling. It was too good. It was always too good. 

Ozzy bobbed his head, one hand keeping himself steady at the base. 

Ed could see the curve of his back and buttock as his head moved, swallowing him down with ease and expertise. There was a flash of blue, and the image of that bruise on his arm shown bright in his mind, pushing aside the haze of arousal. 

Ed made a noise, tugging lightly at Ozzy’s hair. 

Ozzy pulled off, giving Ed an inquiring look. His lips were puffy and wet, and part of Ed wanted nothing more than to see those lips wrapped around his cock again. He wanted to see how beautiful he’d look choking on his cock, and he had to bite his lip to keep from coming as he imagined what it’d look like for Ozzy’s beautiful blue eyes to stare up at him as Ed fucked his face. 

“I want to touch you,” Ed said instead, pushing that thought aside for another time. His voice sounded hoarse and ruined, as though he was the one that had been sucking cock—as though he was the one who was being taken apart when he had just been laying there. He pulled Ozzy closer, sitting up and bringing him close enough to kiss. 

Ozzy folded himself into his lap, straddling him as he kissed back with equal fervor. Ozzy’s cock, hard and untouched, brushed against his own. 

The delicious friction made Ed moan into his mouth. He fumbled one hand free to slip between their bodies, trying to wrap his fingers around both of them. 

Ozzy undulated his body once, twice. The press of his body, his cock, against him coupled with the sounds made him feel delirious—like nothing existed outside of the two of them and the hot, fervent touches between them. 

Ed tried to pull out of the kiss. It was too much—he was going to come. 

Ozzy didn’t allow it, pressing his body even closer and twisting his fingers into Ed’s hair as they kissed and rutted against each other.

The possessiveness of the gesture, however unconscious, made something inside him purr. Ed slipped his second hand between their bodies. Their cocks were hard and slick, leaking precome over his fingers. It gave enough lubrication for Ed to wrap both his hands around them, stroking them in tandem. 

_This_ made Ozzy pull away, moaning as he rocked back and forth. The look of wanton pleasure on his face only made Ed want him more. 

Ed removed his hands with regret as he scrambled to find the pack of lube that lay next to the discarded condom wrapper. He coated one hand, uncaring of it dripping onto his bare mattress. 

Ozzy shifted, lifting himself and pushing himself forward to give Ed a better angle. His body yielded beautifully to Ed’s fingers. He was hot and tight, and Ed wasted no time preparing him. Ozzy moaned as Ed fucked him with his fingers, eyes shut as he tried to keep his balance on his knees even as he pressed back against Ed’s hand. 

“One day,” Ed growled, ignoring the whine as he pulled out his fingers, “I’m going to see if I can make you come on only my fingers.” He could imagine it already—Ozzy bent over the bed and giving Ed the perfect view of his pale back and the curve of his plush ass. He’d take him apart slowly, tease him until he begged for his cock, and then he’d deny him. He’d make him fuck himself on Ed’s fingers until he came. 

Ed kissed him again as he rolled them over, Ozzy’s legs wrapped around his waist. When Ed pulled back from the kiss to spread more lubricant on his cock, he had to pause for a moment. 

Ozzy looked like a vision underneath him. His hair was mussed against the mattress, his eye makeup smudged, and his lips wet. His eyes were half-lidded in arousal, and he was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. His cock bounced against his stomach, and his legs were spread around Ed, inviting and willing and warm. 

“You are so beautiful,” Ed said, voice full of awe. “You take my breath away.”

The look he got in return was incomprehensible. Ozzy’s face was almost curiously blank, and for a moment, there was nothing between them but the sound of shallow pants. 

Ed cursed at himself. It was too much, too honest. But he knew he had been a goner since this beautiful creature below him stole his wallet. Ed wondered if he had pushed too far, if his honesty was off-putting. 

But then Ozzy smiled at him. His lips curved upward, and he twisted his body, squeezing Ed between his thighs. He opened his mouth as though about to speak, but nothing came out. Finally, he trailed on hand up Ed’s arm to his shoulder, pulling him down into another kiss. 

And the moment passed. They kissed as Ed entered Ozzy’s body, as he started the almost tortuously slow push until he bottomed out. 

They kissed when he pulled back, swallowing the mewl that Ozzy gave. He pulled away, just long enough to take a breath of air, before capturing those lips again. 

He fucked him in long, slow strokes. He could hear the sound of skin against skin, the sound of the record still playing in the background, and their mingled groans. He wasn’t going to last long, he knew it, not when the image of the most beautiful creature was seared in his mind. Ed came with stuttering thrusts, emptying himself into the condom and moaning into their kiss.

Ozzy whimpered when Ed pulled out, but it was quickly replaced with a satisfied groan as Ed finished him off in quick, jerky movements. He cleaned them off with his discarded shirt before he laid back on the bed. He could feel the scratch of the bare mattress against his back, and he knew he should be concerned about the mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Ozzy murmured something, soft and content, as he curled against Ed’s body. 

Ed could feel his heart pounding in his chest, even as he took a few long exhales. As his pulse slowed, he wrapped the arm around Ozzy a little tighter. 

Ozzy looked up at him, showing off his crystal blue eyes. 

Something was missing from them, something that Ed had only seen in small bursts. So he closed his eyes and leaned down to kiss him, again, so he didn’t have to see. The record had stopped by now, but Ed whispered, almost to himself, “Je vois la vie en rose.”

_And I see life through rose-colored glasses._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _comes in 8 months late with Starbucks_
> 
> Happy New Year, everyone! Hope that this is a small offering to kick us off to a much better 2021! <3 Please take a moment to drop a comment if you enjoyed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An update so soon? Say it ain't so, but don't thank me yet. ;D

Oswald moaned, purposefully arching his back as Arjun slammed back inside of him. As the older man came with a guttural growl, Oswald finished it off his performance with a manufactured whine.

Arjun laughed as he pulled out, slapping Oswald on one ass cheek, breathless. “Oh, come on now, you haven’t had enough?”

Oswald wanted to roll his eyes, but Arjun was too good a customer to lose over a little attitude. He was pushing double Oswald’s age and had gone soft around the edges that were once muscular bulk, but he had a full head of salt-and-pepper hair, a decent cock, and tipped _very _well. It was enough that instead of saying something biting, he purred, “You know me, baby. I’m always ready for more.” To demonstrate, he rolled over and straddled his lap, trailing his hands down his chest while giving a sultry look. Privately, he knew that the man wouldn’t be able to get it up for at least another two hours.

But it had the desired effect. Arjun laughed, low and full-bellied. “That’s my boy,” he said, grabbing onto Oswald’s ass, one cheek in each hand, and squeezing.

It was borderline painful, but Oswald giggled in response. “Don’t forget it.”

Oswald surreptitiously checked the time when Arjun got up to pull on a robe and make himself a drink.

Arjun was many things, but cheap was not one of them. He was a businessman in Metropolis, whose monthly visits to Gotham also meant monthly visits with Oswald. He always invited Oswald to his opulent suites where he’d have room service ordered and champagne on hand.

“How long are you in town this time?” Oswald said, sitting on the edge of the bed. He didn’t bother to put any clothes on. Arjun would let him know if he wanted him dressed.

“Just through tomorrow, my sweet,” Arjun answered as he opened one of the bottles at the bar.

Oswald filed that information away. He never purposefully went snooping through his clients’ personal effects, but he also never forgot anything that might be important.

Ostensibly, he knew that these trips were meant to work with city officials on certain financial

operations. Unofficially, Oswald knew that Arjun was the third lieutenant to one of Metropolis’ most powerful crime families and was also using the trip to oversee the biweekly shipments of drugs. He had the city officials and most of the police in his pocket in addition to the blessing of Don Falcone and Don Maroni who each got a fair cut of the profits for allowing him to do business in Gotham.

Arjun had dozens of men who cowered to him, but Oswald was the one that _he_ paid to fuck.

“What are you thinking about, sweetheart?” Arjun asked, lighting a cigar and passing a glass of whiskey, neat, to Oswald.

“Just the first time we met,” Oswald answered truthfully before feigning a sip of the drink, just barely wetting his lips.

“Ah, yes,” Arjun said, taking a seat next to Oswald and trailing kisses along his neck. “I remember that night well. Two years ago at the Policeman's Ball. You were such a delightful little minx, all dressed up like a present waiting to be unwrapped.”

Oswald leaned into the kisses, resting one hand on his thigh. “If I recall properly, I _was_ a present to be unwrapped. But not for you.”

“Pah,” Arjun said, dismissive. “He wouldn’t have known how to handle a fiery thing like you.”

“And you do?”

“You know it,” Arjun growled, biting down on Oswald’s shoulder.

Oswald hid a wince, hoping it wouldn’t bruise.

“Speaking of the Policeman’s Ball,” Arjun said, nibbling at the juncture between his neck and shoulders. One hand had slipped between Oswald’s legs, fondling gently at his flaccid cock. “Can I expect you as my date?”

“Hmm,” Oswald said, playing coy. “I’ll have to check my schedule. I might be booked.”

“You know I’ll double anything someone else can offer you,” Arjun said, pushing him back onto the bed. “You are my lucky charm, after all.”

Oswald giggled again. “Well, I’ll have to pencil you in then.”

* * *

Oswald left the suite the next morning after a hot shower and a hefty stack of bills slipped into his hand. However good of a client he was, it didn't change the fact that after a full day with the man, he was exhausted. It wasn’t just the physical strain and the sex, either. It was having to keep up the bubbly facade of ‘Ozzy’ for so long that made the last few hours tick by at a snail’s pace.

Oswald smirked at the doorman who gave him a poorly concealed dirty look. He was used to it though. There were only so many conclusions someone could draw when they saw him hanging off the arm of a man twice his age, and most of them would be correct.

He waited until he was on the bus back to the club before he pulled out his cell phone to check his messages. There were the standard voicemails from his mother, followed by one or two messages from regulars. He answered the text messages absentmindedly, already mentally filling out his schedule for the next week.

He had just sent off the last one—Gregory, married with two kids who liked to fuck Oswald in high heels about once a month when his wife played bridge at her sister’s—when his phone buzzed again, one more message.

_>>It’s Edward. Nygma. Are you free this weekend?_

Oswald paused to consider, biting his lip. He...should accept. Ed was easy money—he’d pay Oswald thousands to sit around all day doing very little. Ed was handsome and sweet and generous as a partner. He never pushed Oswald’s boundaries, and he always paid upfront without having to be asked.

He was, for all intents and purposes, the ideal client.

Still, Oswald hesitated.

It had been over a week since Oswald had seen Ed when he had helped the man move into his apartment. He knew that the man was starting his new job that following week. Even if he hadn’t, he would have after Ed had sent him a small essay explaining how he would have loved to have Ozzy over for a night, except he was swamped with overtime hours reorganizing files that ‘some dim-witted ignoramus’ had previously been in charge of.

It was all for the better. It gave Oswald some time and space to think.

Ed was the perfect client. Oswald felt...freer around him, less like he had to put on a persona, and spending time with him was effortless. Sometimes, Oswald would even forget why he was there—sometimes he would forget himself and be too much Oswald and too little Ozzy.

Sometimes he forgot about the stack of bills in his pocket that was the reason he was there.

And that was a dangerous thing to forget.

His phone buzzed again.

_>>All day Saturday? Now that I have a kitchen, I would love to be able to cook you dinner._

It was a bad idea. Ed was too perfect. It was suspicious. It had to be a trap, despite that for all Oswald’s digging, Edward Nygma came up squeaky clean.

_>>Do you have any allergies? I have seen you eat dairy, wheat, and fish, but what about shellfish? Did you know that 2.3% of all adults are diagnosed with a shellfish allergy?_

Oswald bit his lip, staring down at his phone. It was a bad idea, but he wasn’t in a position where he could be turning down the money. It was just a silly crush, a childish infatuation, and it would pass as it always did.

He typed out his response. He read it and then re-read it. He inhaled, deep, and then pressed send.

_<<Of course, babe. I’m all yours this weekend. What time do you want to meet?_

* * *

“You are here early.”

Oswald set down his makeup brush before turning around in his seat and abruptly standing up. “Miss Mooney,” he said, offering up a smile. “I have a client who requested me for this morning. I hope that it was okay for me to use the club to get ready.” He made sure to insert just the right amount of worry into his tone.

Miss Mooney allowed most of her workers—sex workers included—to use the back end of the club for storage, showers, and getting ready. And while it wasn’t common, some clients preferred daytime engagements. The guards at the doors never question it when one of them comes through, but Fish Mooney was usually not present during the earlier hours of the day.

“Of course, my little penguin,” Miss Mooney said, stalking up to him. Even in her striking heels, she still wasn’t at height with Oswald, but it had never mattered. Fish Mooney was a force of her own, and she could make even the largest man feel like a child. “Tell me about your client. Anything that Mama should know?

“Oh,” Oswald said. “I’m afraid not. He’s one of those rich boys who can’t get a date without paying for it. Easy money.” He shrugged, nonchalant.

Miss Mooney hummed as she reached out with one hand and brushed her long nails against his cheek. “Sit,” she ordered, perching herself against the vanity.

Oswald obeyed, letting her tip his face this way and that as she inspected his half-finished makeup.

“Allow me,” she said, picking up Oswald’s discarded makeup brush. She swiped the end into the light pink blush, picking up more pigment before she gently swept it over his cheekbones. She did the same to the other cheek before leaning back to examine her handiwork. She pulled another brush out of his makeup bag and proceeded to do the same thing with his bronzer.

“Daniel Saviano was here last night asking about you,” she said as she worked. Her tone was conversational, as though she was only now remembering. “You must have left quite the impression.”

“Oh?” Oswald said, forcing his heart rate down. “I’m afraid I don’t remember Mr. Mateo.”

Miss Mooney laughed, tilting his head back with a finger so she could do his eyeshadow, and Oswald closed his eyes automatically. “I don’t suppose you would. You entertained him and a few of his friends at Marco’s party a few months ago. Do you recall?”

“I do.” It had been one of Marco Moretti’s infamous parties—full of drugs, booze, and sex. He always hired a few of Miss Mooney’s boys and girls to entertain his guests. Sometimes it meant serving drinks, sometimes stripping, but most of the time it meant participating in the more risque activities that took place in the back rooms. Oswald had been one of a dozen entertainers for the night, and he had been sore for a week afterward.

“He’s hoping you’d be amiable to a repeat performance,” Fish said, brushing pigment on his upper lid. The touch was featherlight.

“How many?”

“Four.”

Oswald kept his eyes closed, mind spinning and heart racing. “How much did he offer?”

“Twelve. Nine, after my cut.”

Nine thousand was over two months of his typical earnings for a night’s work. “What did he want?”

“The whole shebang, darling.”

“Bareback?”

“Likely, but he didn’t specify.”

But with four men, probably. Or Oswald wouldn’t be able to keep track to make sure they were wrapped. Nine thousand was a lot but not enough for that risk. “No,” he finally said before he could change his mind. “I appreciate the offer, but I’ll have to pass.”

Miss Mooney hummed. “Open your eyes,” she said.

Oswald obeyed.

She made a noise of satisfaction. “I knew it. These colors do bring out your eyes,” she said, running a nail down his cheek. “Now, I suggest a little mascara to really make them pop, and then you are good to go.” She set the brush down and stood, brushing off the non-existent lint from the front of her dress.

“That’s...it?” Oswald said before she could leave. He had expected some sort of pushback from Miss Mooney. She couldn’t have brought it up to him in person if she hadn’t _wanted_ him to accept.

“Was there something else you needed?” Miss Mooney asked, arching an eyebrow with one hand on her hip.

“You don’t mind me turning down the offer?”

Miss Mooney clicked her tongue and wagged her finger at him**. **“Oh, my little bird, not at all. You know I would never force you to take a client you didn’t want. Now, I won’t lie to you and say that having my favorite little bird chirping in Savino’s ear wouldn’t have been a nice bonus, but a no is a no.”

Not for the first time, Oswald was grateful to have met Miss Mooney. He knew half a dozen pimps in other territories that wouldn’t have given two shits about what he wanted. Miss Mooney took a higher cut than them, but she guaranteed them safety and autonomy. No one messed with one of Mooney’s girls or boys—as a result, she had the best quality product. She was the one people went to when Gotham’s rich and famous needed company for the nights, and she hadn’t gotten that reputation by leaving her workers unhappy. “Thank you, Miss Mooney,” Oswald said, his affection evident.

“Anything for my little bird,” Miss Mooney said. She leaned down and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head.

Oswald watched her leave before he turned his eyes back to the mirror. Miss Mooney had done his makeup differently than he would have—it was softer. The blush gave him a warm glow, and she had chosen a soft gold eyeshadow.

It made him look younger, less sex and more sweetness.

He wasn’t sure he liked it.

* * *

Oswald huffed, jogging from the bus stop to the corner that Ed had instructed to meet him. He wasn’t late, not _yet_, but it was cutting it close. He wasn’t fastidious about being on time, he didn’t care much one way or another, but he knew _people_. Some, like Ed, liked everything in a neat row, ready and uncomplicated, and others liked to work for it a bit more. So while it wasn’t that Oswald was never late to an appointment, he would never be late for an appointment with _Ed_.

He rounded the corner, checking the time one last time, and was relieved that he still had a minute. He stopped, scanning the crowd for Ed’s distinctive feature. The expansive park that bordered the west side of the island was an odd choice for a meeting place—it wasn’t close to Ed’s apartment. It was closer to Oswald’s apartment more than anything, even the club. Had his mother not been awake this morning, he would have simply gotten ready there, but he couldn’t risk her asking questions.

“Ozzy!”

Oswald turned at the sound of his name, catching sight of Ed waving him over. Oswald put on his brightest smile and trotted over. “Hey, handsome,” he said, laying it on thick. Ed thrived on praise, he had discovered early, and it didn’t matter on what. “I’ve missed you.” He leaned up to press a quick kiss to his lips.

Ed flushed and ducked his head, as expected, and Oswald took the chance to hook their arms together. “Yes, I had hoped that I would be able to finish the organization earlier, but, well, it turned out that several files were missing, and I had to try and track them down. Apparently, our last record keeper quit over a year ago, and no one has bothered to keep anything organized in the meantime. I’m considering…”

Oswald tuned him out, making sure to smile and nod at the right parts or make little noises of sympathy. He still hadn’t figured out if Ed’s tendency to ramble was annoying or cute, but it was far from the worst thing he’d put up with at work before.

“—Oh, I’ve been rude,” Ed suddenly said. “I haven’t had a chance to ask about how your week has gone.”

“Mm,” Oswald deflected, playing coy, “Not bad, but much better now.” He punctuated his statement by scooting in closer to Ed, so his body was flush against his side.

“O-oh,” Ed said. “I—um.”

“So what do you have planned for us today? A nice stroll in the park?” It _was_ actually a nice day for a walk. Autumn was in full swing, and the leaves were a kaleidoscope of orange and yellow and green. Most of Gotham must have also thought the same, as there was a moderate amount of traffic with even a few couples and families lounging in the grass.

“Well, I mentioned dinner. And while clearly this isn’t dinner, of course not, dinner normally occurs between six and eight o’clock, well.” Ed stopped talking and then took a deep breath. “What I meant to say,” he said, voice calmer with each word crisp, “is that I thought to take advantage of some seasonal offerings. Ee could pick out ingredients together at the farmer’s market. I read that they usually have booths selling fresh food, so we could also grab a light lunch while we are here.”

That...wasn’t what Oswald had been expecting. He had been on dozens of daytime dates. Usually, it was something like lunch, perhaps a walk in the park. It was for the men (and the rare women) who just wanted someone to listen, who wanted someone to look at them like they were the whole world. Sometimes, they’d take him back to their home or hotel, sometimes they’d call him beautiful and perfect, and sometimes they liked for Oswald to say he loved them.

None of them felt as intimate as walking around a farmer’s market and picking fresh ingredients for dinner. It was disturbing domestic, uncannily like they were a real couple.

Oswald hated it.

Something must have shown on his face because Ed suddenly frowned. “Is something wrong? We don’t have to, of course, I can pick some things up quickly if you are cold or if—”

Oswald interrupted him. “No,” he said, leaning up on his tiptoes to press a kiss on his cheek, “it sounds lovely. What were you thinking of making?”

It was only when Oswald was sure Ed was in the middle of a long diatribe about the merits between different local varieties of apples that he allowed himself to relax. He couldn’t freeze up like that again—whatever this stupid infatuation was doing to him, he couldn’t allow it to change _anything_.

So what if he had grown up listening to his mother’s stories about true love? That he had read every one of her cheesy romance novels as a teenager? That he used to daydream about what it would be to have someone to kiss and touch and hold and tell him that he was their moon and stars?

He got part of his wish. He had more partners than he could remember, had acted out every situation—no matter how ridiculous or sentimental or humiliating—a client had wanted. He had enough experience that he could write a dozen of those dime-store novels and barely scratch the surface.

But none of that was real.

It couldn’t be real when their encounters always opened and closed with the exchange of money. It couldn’t be real when he was a commodity that could be bought and traded.

Love was real, but it wasn’t for the likes of him.

Oswald let out a soft, slow exhale. Yes. This infatuation would pass. It always did.

“—eat now or later?”

Oswald forced himself back into the conversation just in time. He had missed the first part of the question, but he could guess. “Now is fine.” He pressed himself closer into Ed’s side, making sure to be a little more flirtation than normal to make up for his moment of inattention. “What did you have in mind?”

Ed scanned the booths, slipping his arm to curl around Oswald’s waist. “I think there is a bakery booth over there.”

As they stepped closer, the crowd parted, and Oswald finally caught sight of the booth in question.

_NOR/MA _was written out with a permanent marker on a simple piece of cardboard. Despite the simplicity of its signage compared to its neighbors, its tables were laden with baked goods, most of which he was familiar with. Too familiar.

Ed looked closer at the signs—simple placards with each item’s price and name written in a messy hand. “A reets tesstaja?”

“A retes tesztaja,” Oswald automatically corrected. “It’s a type of strudel.”

“You’ve had it before?”

His mother preferred baking the more basic version at home that she’d stuff with potato and cabbage. It was an easy way for her to make something more elaborate out of the cheapest ingredients they could afford. A retes tesztaja were similar, though more elaborate and much harder to make. A handful of times, his mother had returned from work with one or two of them in a paper bag that she bought at half-price before the end of the day. His mother would always save the one with sour cherries for him. So he said, “Yes, but only once or twice,” and it wasn’t a lie.

Ed was looking at him as he spoke, and Oswald had never felt more under scrutiny than those few seconds. It was just a stupid pastry, and it meant nothing. Oswald knew what he should do—he should bat his lashes and point to one or two random things. And he’d deflect any question about Oswald’s perfect pronunciation of the item with kisses and touches, and they'd be on their way.

But the words were caught in his throat, and in a panic, he did the only thing he could think of—he pushed himself onto his toes and kissed Ed. He kissed him with everything he had, hoping that it would be enough to distract him. He opened his mouth, pushing and pulling with his mouth, and he knew it probably looked borderline obscene to anyone looking, but he knew men and men were easily distracted by their dicks. So he pulled back, scraping his teeth along Ed’s lower lip in a move that never failed to make his breath hitch. He didn’t move far, their breaths still mingling, and he opened his mouth, ready to suggest moving on, ready to spew some excuse about how hot Ed had looked, ready to do anything and—

“Oswald?”

The voice pierced through all of his thoughts and plans, and by instinct, he jerked away from Ed. He cursed himself because he should have known—should have remembered that she did her shopping every Saturday, but she always went early in the morning because she wanted her pick before the crowds. But, of course, not this morning, no, because Oswald had been home and she had made him a cup of tea, and he _hadn’t even been thinking about,_ and now here she was, looking at him with her brows furrowed in her gauzy pink dress with a basket hooked over one arm and it couldn’t shouldn’t be his—

“Mother?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _laughs manically_


End file.
